Something 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. Filed under: Hope, Imagination, Nature, Poetry, Positive Thinking, Seasons, Springtime Tagged: Arctic, frozen, […]![]()
