In words of frost at midnight the storm spoke
To me, tales in hoar crystals that rime my beard,
Sharp wonderment diminished by cold, purity
Guaranteed by temperature hyperboreal tangible
And by surprise visit, a demon in flakes howling.
All that is wished for need not ever be granted
To even those most fervent in their devotion,
The difference not made up for lack of trying,
Deficiencies defied against perceived need,
Lies in the storm, the rush of pure howls.