Queen of Ice

Cold, unhurried, sight unseen,
Wondering of my silent queen:
Rare, imagined, candle-lit,
I dream that you, half-smiling, sit.

Entered, started, time to meet,
Walking steady toward your seat:
Beauty! Angels, play the harp,
But your eyes narrow, razor-sharp.

Face to face, a bitter scene,
Cold, and deadly, is my queen:
Bloodied, icy, and frost-bit,
Cut to ribbons by your wit.

- DBN

---

Back to Daniel's poems
Back to Daniel's home page