Ice Queen

These simple words which stays the harsh whip’s lash
And bold-faced arrangement which eschews artifice
Are the bare cupboards of a kitchen
Removed of bon-bons and honeyed treats.
These worn walls are my heart
This scrape, a knife-wound from a careless vagrant.
No longer do I spread a sumptuous feast;
I offer nothing but shelter and a worn chair:
A kindness, if only you chose to see it.