These frozen monoliths of stone

Separate me from my home.

Tradition breathing down my neck

As I run blindly, scared, alone-

I turn to see a fading shape

In panic, eyes wide, mouth agape;

I have to reach the waiting-place

Where he will help me to escape-

Through passages that twist and turn

I flee. Tradition, breathing, burns

The flesh behind my neck and back,

But all that I can do is run-

My gold and diamond promise band

(A gleam of light upon my hand)

Presents a silver memory,

A most compelling, firm demand-

The fading shape ahead of me

Grows slightly clearer as I flee.

Tradition, on the other hand,

Upon a glance behind I see-

His muddy claws my bones could break

If he were nearer in my wake;

His stained, grey teeth would tear my skin

If I but paused, a breath to take-

The figure there grows clearer still,

And if I catch him, then he will

Defeat the foe with love and trust,

And quickly we’d forget his kill-

As we escaped the maze of ice

Through which I’ve run for all my life.

And we would live a life of bliss,

A monster’s death the only price.