You came to me in the darkest hour of the cold.
And all through the night soothed me with wobbly stories.
At daybreak I thought you meant to straighten the lines of the plot,
But instead of plains, I got hills.
The two white mounds of snow judge us, but only I see.
Pretermit in my steps to the peaks
We stand upon the ethereal snow rounds
You do not stand taller than I.
It merely took more snow to cover your pool of blood.