Never should a winter be so cold
Or I, so lonesome
That I can not hear the whispering words of my lovers heart nor feel the warmth of his tender cheek agaisnt mine
Never should my heart be turned to stone, and I so unmoved
That the sins of my father escape my attention and I abandon my humanity for comfort
Never should my passions burn so bright, and words be so sharp
That I sear the flesh off of youths starry hopes and with my tongue tear asunder their dreams
Never should a winter be so cold, and I so calloused
So rigid and inflexible that the things I detest about the world turn me into its worst example
These are the things I fear as I get older, late at night, in the midst of February.