This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

Deep azure wells turned upside down,
Fathoms of years above my head
Where the stars of faerie coins wink brightly
And shine upwards to the earth below.

The Snow Queen flies, her minions a-flurry
To serve the haughty, ice-crowned witch.
The earth beneath her royal train
Lies lost in slumber, deep, dark sleep.
Pine trees spike into the sky,
Feeding on the energy
Of all who grew and then were lost,
Their sap and seeds now bound by roots.

The white witch swoops and throws them crumbs,
Bedecking them in jewelled splendour,
Bread of ice and snow a mantle,
Dumbing down their bouncy branches.

The winter skies are heavy laden
With the mists of centuries past,
Holding dreams and tears and sorrows,
Dancing joy now grown too stiff.
The rosy blush of Christmas cheer
Is swept along their undersides,
Melting dense pale grey old age
Before the witch freezes the light.

For freeze she will, the dying sun
No match for regal icy arts;
The skies, those wells of centuries,
Remain above my head,
Awaiting the moment
I plunge in feet-first
To skate upon its glass.

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.