The Cailleach

Beara

The Cailleachan

The Queen Of Winter

Calls to the pale children

Crouched before their screen god

Gently coaxing

With icicled words

That chill their veins

Draw their eyes

Away from the magic box

Onto the glass

Of a mist-cornered windowpane

Stumbling to the door

Turning the handle

Falling into the soft cold world of reality

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