frosty air, blowing her locks,
jewels of ice glimmering in every golden strand,
there she stands, white hand out in farewell,
bidding us the luck of her race in our forthcoming jorney.
look into her eyes,
they seem pale, and pure at first,
but then you see deepness, wisdom, weariness of her eternal youth.
her transparent, fragile complection shines the frostier as she enters the light between the tall golden trees,
a smile softens her elvish glare.
in the breeze, her white gowns sway,
imitating the graceful swan in flight.
an elvish glow is about her -invisible- but its presence is known.
she is the lady of the wood - most fair, most wise.