Of frozen flakes and untied bows,

Of fading frost and mistletoe,

Upon her birth, the people cheer,

She gazes fondly, but with fear.

Perhaps a year of new hope and joy.

Perhaps the dawn of love and faith.

But in her heart, she can't help but think:

Perhaps a boon for crime and hate.

She, the first, the queen of all.

She, the beacon within the fall.

She, that leads them to the last,

Away from broken dreams gone past.

Awaiting her arrival is not in vain

For, in her hands, she holds the rein

To the years to come and the times to meet

Controlling it all as she sits on her seat.