She wore a black tiara 
rare gems upon her fingers 
and she came from distant waters 
where northern lights explode 
 
to celebrate the dawning 
of the new wastes of winter 
gathering royal momentum 
on the icy road. 
With chill mists swirling 
like petticoats in motion 
sighted on horizons 
for ten thousand years 
the lady of the ice sounds 
a deathly [bad word] 
to Titanic-breaking children lost 
in melting crystal tears. 
Capturing black pieces 
in a glass-fronted museum 
the white queen rolls 
on the chessboard of the dawn 
squeezing through the valleys 
pausing briefly in the corries 
the Ice-Mother mates 
and a new age is born. 
Driving all before her 
un-stoppable, un-straining 
her cold creaking mass 
follows reindeer down. 
Thin spreading fingers seek 
to embrace the sill-warm bundles 
that huddle on the doorsteps 
of a white London Town. 
Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here 
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove. 
And the turntable spins 
as the last waltz begins 
And the weather-man says 
something's on the move.