Stealthy walking spirit in the night
Upon the winds of the winter’s change.
Stabbed with color shooting down
Into a world of lifeless mayhem.
Little wonder of such a place
Prickly and absent of life.
How did such as this occur
Before the glaring night?
Wasting over lands of thorn
She glides high in the air.
Never is a passerby
To ever be found here.
As fallen branches from the trees
Deaf forests that hear no sound.
Only here among the freeze
Aye – folklore can be found.