A vine of arrowroot
Touch the cheek of a woodcutter.
Gigantic columns of clouds.

Love is a cold war,
I'm a colder soldier.
My heart has become barren,
A frozen wasteland.
Cracked like the ice
That encases it.
Its been the target
Of many a snowball's chance.
So now I hold
Strong and cold
With weapons in hand
Prepared for this cold war
Which has made me
Even colder.