Not the kind to know
Of what it is they show
Behind the walls of snow
For perhaps it is a fire

A fire can be sweet
Like a kiss upon your cheek
And yet it holds the heat
That one must call fire

But with in the ice
Something not quit right
Something with a taint -the draws
But pounds across your brain

What’s within in the touch
are things of such
Delicateness
And need beyond the strength- of your bones

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