Beneath the veil of the frost-bound night,
The queen of the Solstice, clad in light,
Wanders the hollows where silence hums,
Her crown a constellation, her scepter spun.
She weaves with hands of shimmering glass,
Threads of starlight that twist and pass,
Binding the sky to the dreaming earth,
Awakening shadows, birthing rebirth.
Her voice, a hymn of crystalline air,
Summons the wolves from their frozen lairs,
Dances with spirits of ancient trees,
Who whisper their secrets to the midnight breeze.
Time halts where her footsteps glide,
The moon her lantern, her constant guide,
Snowflakes drift as her fleeting thoughts,
Each one a memory the cold has wrought.
She gathers the dreams of the hibernal rest,
Lays them in snowdrifts on winter’s chest,
And in her gaze, the cosmos turns,
In frozen stillness, the solstice burns.
The world is her mirror, the ice her muse,
Reflections of longing she cannot refuse.
For though she reigns in winter's keep,
Her heart is bound to what spring will reap.
And as the dawn spills amber and rose,
The queen dissolves where the last wind blows,
Leaving behind her spectral art—
The fleeting beauty of the frozen heart.