Cold beauty from a wild touch, caresses left behind.

As Jack pressed upon the glass to see what was inside.

Too much warmth for his cold heart as he danced away from heat.

I did not hear him when he came and did not hear him flee.

I only saw the waves of cold he left, a swirling masterpiece.

Detailed with a master’s hand and done so wondrously.

Then morning sun shines on the glass, fading it away.

Melting the work of this wild sprite and his magic touch of fey.

                                                                  Butch