Ten of tens, nay ten of Jacks,
The knave that weaves the fanning cracks
That latticework on the skin of a chill winter lake,
Jack the frost spreader boyo,
Lurking behind ten blue toned shadows of vitamin thin sunlight
Frost that banishes the ducks and thwarts the drake
Chasing the last furry fugitive hero
Down into the burrow beyond ten below zero
Jack the frost bringer’s ten-digit hands,
Flex icy fingers that beckon sheep to huddle in darkening night
For who mocks astride their ten-slab dry stone wall
But that meanest knave of knaves, the hoary rime caked pierrot.
A.McTiernan