The evening was grey and misty. Melenyáriel the naien trotted swiftly through the trees, her thick, tortoiseshell fur fluffed against the cold. This was the coldest winter she had yet seen. Light snow was falling, collecting in a thin layer on the mossy ground and melting in minute drops on her fur.

Incased in snow,
No one knows,
How she got there,
Where she will go,
Born into ice,
Nothing will sufice,
To sooth her pain,
There is no such device,
Nothing can set her free,
For you see,
Her love for the world,
For you and me,
Must remain hidden,
Nothing will sufice,
But to be incased in snow,
and hidden in ice.

Hey, hey, hey, Jack Frost! I see ye comin’ round the bend
With your sleigh of ice and white powder to send
With a bite of the wind and a kiss of the breeze
Hey, here comes Jack Frost! Can you not see?
He’s the one who comes each year, his eyes of creamy blue
His clothing is that of traveling frost, with white crystal shoes.

Hey, hey, hey, Mr. Fridgid! I see ye comin’ round the turn

Slain

Shatters of the Conscience,
the broken splintered sort
The creaking moaning anguish,
that froze my barren heart
Why does silence shatter,
the Ice that tasted sweet?
The coldest forms of "Wisdom",
that "wisdom" brought defeat
Warmth erased the selfish lies,
on the thick and lifeless slate
The harmful words of mine,
put on hateful waste
The sinful kind of sadness,

Urgent! When the woodpecker stops at your window, larger than life and resplendent in black and crimson, pay attention!