I wish I had an excuse for this one. . . But I don't.
She comes with rain soaked steps beating sleeting numbing
A clear so cold she brings the light of new when not amidst
The dancing bright of white and fog
When bitterness displayed is her countenance as wind and water
Our refuge only in flame and cup and comforters caress
Is found if companions quit or fevers find
Should your face uplift some special few each one in twelve
And should her darkest breath have numbed your major covering
A shower of silver unspendable will be bartered
For a few silent drops of inner salve
Unplacable her empty hollow laugh
Surrounds and coats covering and cleansing
And like its twin in mirth is just as quickly vanished
She leaves you rested, whole but often heart-sore
From a tumble shared and at last springs forth a new
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