Layers of snow, layers of hate
Disdain that no-one should create.
Belied by falsehood and fake kings
Like birds that wounded their own wings.

My prince, my prince, where might thou be?
Bring th' poems thou want to tell me!
At this trivial, dark hour
When asleep are, leaves and flowers.

Strange why I keep calling thy name
As I've not thought of thee before.
Like blue starlight, chilly and damp,
like red moonlight, surly and sore.