Red plume finery cannot deflect;
Angel pink dips cannot stem;
White sheet bark cannot turn,
nor wood smoke drift to gone,
today’s cursed canvas of gloom.
Its stench cannot be washed off.
Ice crystal tears weep in dismay.
Until sun sword slices to blue.
Mish is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Mish says:
Write a quadrille; must be exactly 44 words, not counting the title and must include ice
or a form of the word.