Hidden in my last winter abode came Death

alike a frail and excusing crying mourner

and sat down in apprehension, in whispering:

Searched here for Life itself to befriend,

in the wounded, in your lone dying

We are left here, a shadowfree storm,

holding our rugged words against darkness,

pressing the nights hours; teaching us coldness

(Got dragged here through the lands inside darkness

Carried over all the time distances, stones and ices)

And cold has just my fairness in its word,

while emptiness,

has its emptiness stuck in the Weave

IN NIGHT FROST DRAUGHT