Le Roi de l'Hiver
Silvered threads in cracked lace across windows,
Clearer with the cold, a fevered melting
Braille that tugs like marionette strings on
The nearest oak tree branches. Sharp winds like
Careless words whip snow and the stray leaves as
Bastard children lost in a sibilant-
Tongued month which was broken for the luckless
Hopes of shattered and helpless men. Dressed in
Velvet sky and sharp waxed holly, he keeps
His own counsel, smiling teeth like shining
Icicles bared in a grimace of his
Power, chill pretense for veiling ancient
Terror of his yearly exile from the
Face of the unflinching pale gold sun.