Return of the Ice Queen
The wind outside is howling mad
As I sit in the armchair, glad
Of the fire’s warmth and crackle
Which subsides the freezing cackle
Of the trees, outside they freeze
In the harsh, merciless breeze
Of the storm that rages further
As the world grows ever older.
I reach my hand and take my cup
I smell its vapor, drink it up.
I place my hand upon my book.
I turn a page and while I look
At the frozen window glass,
I could see a shadow pass.
Startled in my soft armchair,
I get up and try to glare
At the chaos of the night,
Where all is dark, there is no light.
I hear three knocks outside my door,
Someone’s standing there for sure.
I cross the room, listen with care.
On this cold night, who could be there?
Three knocks again, and then a whisper:
“I have come home at last dear sister.”