The Frost King

He crept along the valley, a shadow in white, Breath of winter’s kiss, silencing night, A shiver brushed softly over the land, The Frost King arose, with a crystalline hand.

Each tree became a sculpture, each hill a bright crown, The world, as he passed, wore a garment of down, And under his touch, the rivers stood still, In the kingdom of ice, with a beauty to thrill.

But when morn broke, and the sun claimed the skies, The Frost King retreated, while warm breezes rise, For such is the fury of nature’s array, As she dances through seasons, day after day.

• Jack London