We met deep in our grief, you see, Abandoned, lost in doubt; She clasped my hand and slow but sure Together we climbed out.

The empire, it was crumbling then, We had much work to do; “‘Tis not the mountain, but ourselves” Such was her constant tune.

Slow bit by bit the life returned To these four walls within. I cared for her, and she for me; We became nearly kin.

E’en more than that, I found in her An echo of myself; Ambition, fervor, energy Possessed by no one else.

I’m not the only one she saved: An orphaned prince of mine Was wrapped in her embrace as well, And flourished tall and fine.

Others joined, though I preferred To keep our numbers small She always said, and she was right, I could not do it all.

I owe her more than words can say, My very life to start; She made it more than ‘twas before, Breathed life into my heart.

Perhaps we feel more fondness than I realized at first; But that comes second to the task— Especially for her.

Besides, she’d never care for me As a wife would for her man; We share a purpose rather than An earthly, common plan.

It’s fine; we live, and that is more Than I had dared expect; Back when sadness conquered me And left me close to death.

But then, tonight, before the Yule, I wandered my domain; Searching for I know not what, Calling my lady’s name;

A vision in a gown appeared Of finest blackened silk; Not mourning—no, not anymore— Lively and young, still.

I never knew that arms so strong Could turn so lissomely; Her skin was cream, her hair like ink, Flowing fair and free;

And eyes, my God, what eyes were those That pinned me to the floor? A stunning cast of blue, or grey, Each shade grappling for more.

She seemed surprised, caught in the act, Her transformation rued; I could not speak, so shocked was I, Bewitched and bothered, too.

Perhaps beneath the frozen waves Her water pulses warm; And in it swims a loving heart That aches to be reborn.

I know not where my liege has gone, E’en less know if I care; This stranger with a queenly face Looks awfully at home there.

Tonight I turned my weary head In search of regal grace, And on the throne a beauty sat; My queen has been replaced.