Winter is coming

and in faded light the white-walkers cry

the drifts are in the drift of things melting

without substance and core agog-ed in chilled flippancy

heads hung in drivel they cast aimless spells in gauze satin

Shapeshifting maiden sacrificed to appease the white walls of pain

inchoate minds drums and beat hides in soundless menace and sins

the salt goddesses pine for fire logs within caves and stallions to ride

feeble and ungainly the white-walkers hurl spittle and bile in rancour

the lickers are licked in mind body and soul in chaste snow-blindness

the black knight in amour an ermine brandishes the sword of swords

and burns the hottest of flames in a kiln so rare and fine

all around the hot air of squawking swirls to nothing

the drifts of drifts hankers in igloos fermenting

winter is coming