Ice-lady of the wood,
Smoke for hair and space for eyes,
Grown out of contradiction,
Taught not to love, only disguise.
She whispers words
Only witches can see,
Burning babies’ tears one by one,
In the hope of being set free,
Continues until the deed is done.
For what blackness is compared
To that upon her heart?
In the darkness there passes
Wisdom enough to impart;
There are no princes on
White steeds. None wait
Under the towers of the mind.
Take what’s given on the plate,
Strive to create, but do not find.
Mystic mother of all time,
Sets her sights upon the ashes,
Miserable to all who pass her,
She is what is worth the knowledge.