She slept in the vaults
Beneath a wintery land
Snow falling without sound
The portrait of midnight
The portrait of midnight and the end at hand.

Her blood was Indian
Her hair oil in a cavern of rock
The torchlight upon it in flickers of red
Her eyes the wailing wind
Her heart closed; no man could open that lock.

Each night to her
The Riddler would descend
Bearing the fruits of the stars
He would ask of the secret to her heart
And she would say,
"No touch in all the world could my heart mend."

The baying of hounds above
Running after the moon
Around and around the frozen grounds
Claws on the roof
One would come to her each night,
And she would say,
"No voice in all the world could make my heart swoon."

Scholars would follow
Paths from the East
A thousand leagues, across the roaring sea
To her hidden land
Lights down through the tunnels,
They would stand before her, and she would say,
"No truth in all the world would win you my hand."

Rains would fall and turn to snow
Drifting to and fro
The Kings of many a year
Would come, and leave, rebuffed, from her home
Promises of hunts in the woods on the Seine
And peace in the Kingdoms of men
But she would say,
"No peace in all the world could lead me to your throne."

The iris of the moon would set,
And only one hound stayed close,
Eyes watching, chin on the ground,
And he could say nothing,
So she would say nothing,
But 'ere and there, a breath in the chill air,
A whisper,
"They are divorced from me, the Kingdoms of men,
But still, there is this hound."

In time, she bid him go,
And he went, to watch from afar,
He would hear the murmurs of men
But his eyes were fixed on his star,
Watching her walk in the gardens of snow
Gathering ice flowers there,
She would look across the way and look away,
And leave silent, at the day's end.

And after the moon had coursed through the sky,
A hundred times, the nights numberless,
The rings of ice tinkling in the trees,
She walked down the rivers of snow,
And here a sound from a dream:
Her bare feet on grass,
And leaves of green brushing her cheek,
She walks as a spirit of peace,
And she speaks:
"Winter is followed by spring."

 - "Midnight," Connelly Barnes, 2007-06-15