Pondering whence the Sun will harmless lay,
Hurting, no more the beauty, I array.
Inkling to destroy two months away,
Little did he know.

Ice melts slower than snow,
Peaceful rivers begin to flow.
Indeed i speak the truth,

Letting biting cold do my will,
Out i look, upon many a blue hill.
Vines have ceased to entwine,
Entranced, frozen in frosty time.

Utterly desolate, purely divine.