Thick-ribbed ice, he hangs, hovering,
Molesting every limb--
Frost-bite-ing;
Sleet’s sleek firmness solidifies,
Dig-ing into every curve of its captive,
Cling-ing to the traces of her every bend,
Bear-ing down with his un-Shaken strain
Into her skin.

Ice-builds on wood,
The twig and crown succumb
To the force of the hoarfrost--
The sharp bitterness of the cold, withstood,
Remains un-Refrained.

The will of the sylvan deity gives way,
She shudders, fawn-ing,
To the tree-god, as he brings her so easily in,
Violently; Then,
Discards her hard--
To the ground, un-Thawed and fall-ing.

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