Cold stones Icy to the touch,
Your lips uttering cold words of forgotten memories,
Walking down the old snow covered field
Tall trees tower ever nearer to the heavens
covered white like the frosting on a cake
as images of my childhood flash threw my head
and you,
The frigid Witch of the winter,
Whom dabbles with men’s heart
as a kitten with a dieing mouse,
You make sirens look as saints
and succubus’s as charitable virgin caretakers
you do No good to those men whom seem mesmerized by you
nor yourself,
But I love you as any man loves a sister,
With understanding,
and good intentions for ever
and ever