in the great frozen lake
where the sparrows oft rest
in the tree, old and dead
where they keep their warm nest
does the moonlight fall
on the new snowy crest
where lovers once gazed
as the sun carried west
and there, near the post
is a grave, like a cross
where the water runs cold
and ice shimmers like gloss
there the townspeople suffered
their most frightening loss
of the girl, young and sweet
and named januari phrost
as the years, long ago
were of cold endless nights
in the winter's dead mid
found the lake's brilliant white
and one skater did go
at the end of the light
but the dead ice was weak
she fell through, out of sight
and it's been fifty years
since the poor girl was lost
but her ghost, restless here
wanders through trees of moss
where all nature does mourn
o'er that cold icy cross
where the poor perished girl
was named januari phrost