All that exists in Time of Space
Is as real or unreal as you think;
For the Unmoved Mover does not waste,
Divine Energy hurled towards the brink.
Of its three colors, the middle is red.
Being Fire, it consumes any unwary soul,
Daring to venture to Valhalla.
The fall of snow glistens in white
Like silver threads in a tapestry;
It weaves a winter's tale of old,
With it's silent imagery.