She had a heart of Winterglass
Her tears were made of snow
She walked a thousand steps a day
On slippers made of woe.
And when she slipped and skinned her knees
No cry escaped her lips.
She’d fall a hundred times a day
To clear the Devil’s scripts.
Time would brew behind her eyes
And tedium reflected.
And boredom would not leave her side
Or see her frame neglected.
For long before the Grave could bow
Lethargy betrothed her soul—
Seized long before the weary Rider
Of Time could take his toll.
And so she walked away her days
Wind crept and stole her sighs.
Unwithered hands would shade the view
Of sorrow in her eyes.
For she loathed her heart of Winterglass
Though you may be wondering why;
Because, dear friends, that tireless heart
Would never let her die.
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