Winter's cold fingertips
kissed his eyelashes,
etching his slumbering face
into antiquity's embrace.
She laid him down to rest,
cradling his golden-crowned head,
drawing his last breaths as her own,
stitching one more thing of beauty.
Into her tapistry, into the stars,
She wove his dreams, his desires,
marking a path with jewels of ice,
with a frosty tone of touch.