A freezing cold temper
And a heart made of gold
Born with the winter 
Her mask is quite bold

A silent soft slumber
And an emerald soul
Born with the summer
Her mask has a hole

An ego does splinter
With words that are bold 
Blade right down the center
And hands become cold

Of golden and umber 
And flowers of coal
The somber newcomer
Plays a princess' role 

The dance of the masquerade
Of flowers both living and dead
Cold hands of she who has prayed
Take up joyous dance instead