It was raining white flakes,
On the hills and on the frozen lakes.
There stood a wooden henge,
Shining dark defiant revenge.
With pillars down deep, biting the snow
As the plot thickened, crying out ‘now’,
Lands slid, quietly, then galloped
Bringing bright burying slopes.
The henge disappeared in time, in a nick
And the flakes stayed frozen still
The wooden roof breathed its cover away
To the plot’s dismay stayed non-stick
Facing the skies, expecting more, until
The pillars gathered strength to make way.