The snow witch

The Snow Witch

In the heart of a winter’s cold, silent and deep,

Where the northern winds whirl and the shadows creep,

There lives a witch with hair like frost,

In lands where daylight is long since lost.

With eyes like ice and skin of snow,

She wanders where few would dare to go.

Her cloak is woven from the stars’ own light,

Her breath like mist in the endless night.

She calls to the moon, to the storm, to the sky,

As she traces her path where mortals lie.

Her song is a whisper, her voice soft and low,

A melody carried by the drifting snow.

The trees bend down to hear her speak,

The frozen rivers shiver, weak,

As she glides across the silver land,

With magic crackling in her hand.

The wolves bow low, the owls take flight,

The creatures scatter from her sight.

For she is the Snow Witch, queen of the frost,

Her power eternal, her heart forever lost.

They say her spirit is made of ice,

That she wanders alone, paying the price

Of a love once kindled, now turned to cold,

A heart once warm now silent and old.

Yet some believe, on nights so rare,

When the moon is bright and the stars declare,

The Snow Witch’s heart may pulse anew,

A faint, soft warmth breaking through.

A hunter once swore, on a winter’s eve,

He saw her pause and nearly grieve,

By the edge of a lake, silver and still,

Her face caught soft by the moon’s goodwill.

Her tears fell fast, like sparkling flakes,

As if the world itself would break.

But dawn drew near, her sorrow was gone,

And she was once more the winter’s pawn.

And so she wanders, year after year,

Bringing both beauty and quiet fear.

For while her land is harsh and stark,

She leaves her mark, both bright and dark.

The Snow Witch roams with her silent grace,

In frozen forests, her eternal place.

An enchantress bound to the winter’s reign,

A fleeting whisper, a lover’s pain.

And should you chance to see her there,

With frost-bound hands and snow-kissed hair,

Remember this tale, and walk with care—

For the Snow Witch holds no mercy there.Her shadow slips through twilight’s veil,

A phantom white, so ghostly pale.

She leaves no tracks upon the ground,

No single footprint to be found.

Yet townsfolk speak of nights grown chill,

Of whispers rising from the hill,

Of windows frosted in strange designs,

Like icy words, or twisted vines.

They say that if you hear her call,

A sound like silver, faint but tall,

You mustn’t answer, mustn’t stray,

Or she will steal your soul away.

For deep beneath her frosty guise,

Behind the ice-blue of her eyes,

She’s cursed to wander, night and day,

Trapped by winter’s cold decay.

They say her heart was bound in snow,

Locked away, long ago,

By jealous fates who dared to claim

Her warmth and beauty, her passion’s flame.

Once, she loved with fire and light,

Her spirit warm, her soul so bright.

But when her lover went astray,

Her heart turned stone, her joy to gray.

Now she haunts the frozen moors,

Her laughter gone, her spirit moored

To glaciers vast and endless nights,

To lonely woods and starless heights.

And still, beneath the Northern skies,

Her broken heart, like ember, lies—

A tiny spark she guards in vain,

For no spring thaw can ease her pain.

But once each year, when winter wanes,

When rivers thaw, and break their chains,

The Snow Witch falters, soft and slow,

As if she feels a pulse below.

In whispered breath, she seems to sigh,

Her ice-bound heart begins to try

To melt beneath the warming light,

To feel once more a soft delight.

Yet the fates deny her every year,

Snatching back her warmth so near,

And with a scream that chills the dawn,

She feels her hope, her chance, withdrawn.

And so she drifts through night’s embrace,

Her frozen mask, her ghostly face,

A lonely figure lost in white,

Bound to the cold, lost in night.

But those who listen closely swear,

In moments rare, beyond compare,

They hear her heart in quiet snow,

A song of love from long ago.

The Snow Witch, she will walk for years,

Her love and life both turned to tears,

A tragic spell she can’t undo—

A legend, haunting, cold yet true.

And when the moon is high and clear,

When winter’s deep and winds draw near,

Remember her, so pale and fair,

The Snow Witch lost in winter’s snare.

For every flake that falls from skies

Is just a piece of her goodbyes,

A testament of love and loss,

An ancient beauty’s cruel frost-cross.