For some your love is bitter,
Like chalk root of the moor.
Your lips press tight will icy love,
Chilling your embrace.
They turn from you as one newly scorned,
Refusing to accept the truth.
That all along you’ve been waiting close,
Ignored, unknown, misunderstood.
But I see you,
Through a frosted sleep,
You know all would only see.
Your heart glows brightly with a radiant soul,
Your hands with a pure intent.
I see you Winter in all your glory,’
And your secret I will keep.