Have you ever seen the white lady?

She only approaches in the dead of winter,

Within a snowstorm.

She sweeps in from the north, 

Covering the land and the rivers,

Marking all with the cleansing peace.

The cold that she brings,

Allows new life to begin.

A hunter sits in his stand,

Frought with cold,

But still he waits,

His family is awaiting his return.

The family will starve,

Awaiting their Father’s return.

The Hunter sees his prey,

A doe with her fawn.

He needed both to survive winter’s bite,

His provisions would go amiss.

The white lady approached the hunter from the blindside,

Though he was dressed warmly,

It was his fate to be comforted,

By the cold.

He had been out now for two days,

His belly grumble had ceased after an hour,

His bow seemed to be frozen in place,

Lined up for the perfect shot.

The lady laid her upon his arm,

His body froze through solid.

His spirit remains stiff to the tree.

Though the white lady is beautiful to behold,

It is perilous to view her.

For she is Winter’s wife,

And he is a jealous husband.