For she is as cold as a december night.

As dead inside as the trees in the day.

Yet she can be as warm as a fire

Lit with joy and carefree emotions

Dancing around the ashen wood

As embers eject from their projection

As flower petals thrown to an audience.

 

Still, she is the cold in a crone's heart.

After being widowed and left alone

To fend for herself in the abandoned home

Where that fire once beamed

Dancing around the ashen wood

Lighting the room with its brilliance

As that of the sun itself.

 

And yet she is as warm as the scene

Of a small child being tucked into bed

And her mom to love her eternally

And her teddy to protect her

From what lurks in the darkness

Of the room where the fire once danced

With flames engulfing the creatures of the night.

 

Yet retaining the warmth of knowledge

Of her as a new beginning

The passing of hardship

And new ones to overcome

As the world is reborn anew.

 

For she is as cold as a december night.

As dead inside as the trees in the day.

Yet she can be as warm as a fire

Lit with joy and carefree emotions

Dancing around the ashen wood

As embers eject from their projection

As flower petals thrown to an audience.