The Haunting

ghostly iciclesSomething wicked this way comes,

Marching in to Arctic drums;

Promised gift of spring succumbs

To ghosts of winter past.

Ice Queen reigns supreme for now,

Frigid frost on frigid brow;

Soon, she’ll have to take a bow,

For phantoms cannot last.

 

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But Soft, On What Yon Pole Doth Break (or ‘The Little-Known Shakespearian Pole Tragedy’)

soccernetfrost

But soft, on what yon pole doth break

the breath of heaven’s dew,

in frozen apparition sweet

to tempt a child of two

to get him hence and lick said pole

with tongue egressed in kind;

Forsooth, what pain for him whose flesh

doth overpower mind!

*

Verily and anon, I beg of thee – keep thine tongue within its housing when thou dost wander past a tempting flag pole!