If there ever was a winter so harrowing,
so resentful of the love in two hearts
which drained the last ounce of the gold spinners potion
and placed it in an infernal glass cage
and challenged a man who could only feel the love for his queen,
rather his hand intertwined with her highness.
One when the faithful king of hearts is faced with his fear,
a true love's kiss that was for a shadow in the night
an angel of darkness who came only as his reflection faded,
and in time vanished from the ashes at dusk
The day would come when the vigilant dance of the queen would end
leaving the tranquil audience in a revulsion,
and the dagger to protect against evil will be quick to find its home
in the wreck of a man's only fragility.
If a winter so horrid could ever denounce the love of two hearts
then it leaves the question,
what is true love?