A Breezy Day:

She whistles
Then is no more,
Her arms of cold
That chills the core.

Her long fingernails
That scratch my skin,
And rip to shreds
My nose and chin.

With teeth so sharp
They leave their mark,
First she bites
And then she barks.

Her twisted breath
That seems to blow,
That very direction
The scarecrow goes.

With her scattered hands
That float in mid air,
With her clear wings
It's like she's not there.

She is no more
She whistles,
Her frozen perfume
Smells like icicle.