Frost King

The Frost King crept down link a thief in the night

To the land of the Salmon River.

He froze the taps, he froze the chaps,

He made the ladies shiver.

He laid his ice cold hand on me

And chilled me to the liver.

He frozzled the rats, he nipped the cats

And he made the hound dogs quiver.

He chuckled with glee at the sight of me

With a blow torch vainly trying

To deliver the taps from his icy wraps

And undo his foul conniving.

Fifty below and the water won't flow,

The bunkhouse just a cracking.

A knife edged breeze which gives no ease;

It's chill — my bones are wracking.

Icicles rim the edge of the roof

Talon-like, cold, and grim,

Holding the eaves in a relentless grip

As the evening shadows dim.

As the sun goes down the start appear

To gleam in a cold clear sky, 

Like the dancing lights in the Frost King's eyes

As he grins at Willow and I.

Old King Frost you may chuckle and snort

In the land of the Northern Lights,

At the tricks you have played to my dismay

On these long, cold winter nights.

In a month or two goodbye to you

And all your knavish pranks.

When spring appears to dispel my fears

She will get my hearty thanks.