In a rage it blows
Through a gap in the window
Or any way to sneak
To wile its path of chill

With no eyes it searches round
An inescapable haunting
That dwells on sills
Prowls the halls

Born from the beast
That rattles the roof tiles
A child
A clone

This babe born to the beast
Swirls
Twists and whirls
In places untouched by its blood

In bed a child shivers and fears
The bite which is one of ice
But the nightmares of beasts in the sky
Haunt the hours in which we sleep