I best compare you to mid-winter nights—
Incorrigible, callous, cold and mean;
Your grasp, an iron fist of cold-cast might
Firm frozen to that brumal mace you wield.
Hyperborean face of crystal-crusted snow
Frost frames those glinting eyes, glacial blue;
Quartz needled icicles, your gaze to throw
Piercing those plebs that dare to flout your rule.
Hibernian haughtiness haunts heart and soul;
No vernal smile could melt that frigid stare,
Subnivean dreams your passions to cajole—
A bleak ombromanie of rank despair.
Here may these words of warning boldly stand:
Let no man ever clasp that gelid hand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.