From his distant clime he rules the weather,
conjures blizzards with the flick of his wrist;
a thrillion crystals prick my skin,
quiver me in white. I am his Winter
Queen, resident of the silvery palace,
I sleep on a bed of ice. I wear a gown
glazed with stalactites that shatter as I dance,
my glass slippers ermined in snow.
I’m his slip-of-a-girl, shrink-to-size squeeze,
but with a wave he could command an early thaw,
release me from this perishing freeze;
he’s a bitter king who swears by his own law
so I am slave to his inclement heart
that pumps chill blood, knows no heat.