Sneedronningen

The squeak and creak of ice does speak,
Of stars fallen from the sky beneath.
Break the ice, and enter in,
The toes will burn, the fingers grin.
Or float atop on blades of speed,
With thickening ice and mørketid.
I prefer the dark wet below,
First kiss of water numbing from the cold.
Then enveloped in frigid embrace,
Of the frozen lady of the lake,
A second kiss, deeper than the first,
To forget all loves that came before.
I linger thinking of the third kiss,
One further which ends in my water joining this,
And wade out with it still waiting on her lips.