Last night, I was awoken By the glowing eyes Of falling snow But I won't go any closer To my window For it's strange how the icicles grow My journal was empty For the past several days They must have been spent In a lonely haste Why do visitors No longer come? I suppose That the snow Has melted my hole A rope had been Tied to my cold metal bed And they spin round and round And around my head I look at the window One final time The icicles have melted And so have I