Blood upon snow, the white to red,
in suffering the beast is fed.
I carve my bones,
I pull my teeth,
all gifts I now to You bequeath.

Unflagging lips, to shell of Ear,
a shiver, anticipation or fear?
My Shadow at dawn,
where carve I the right,
to taste a sip of eternal night.

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 4th of Khepary, in the year 465 MA.