There is one, whose piercing-orbs
See wholes yet to be fragment.
To turn what’s warm to frigid-glass,
Take what’s heated, make shivering mass
Even Earth’s-skin is met with cooling tint
Be careful, one, with soul of ice,
Be weary of the fall.
For frozen things, with a clattering ring,
Will surely shatter to a million things
When felled from heights so tall.