Something's On The Move

She wore a black tiara
  rare gems upon her fingers
  and she came from distant waters
  where northern lights explode
  to celebrate the dawning
  of the new wastes of winter
  gathering royal momentum
  on the icy road.
With chill mists swirling
  like petticoats in motion
  sighted on horizons
  for ten thousand years
  the lady of the ice sounds
  a deathly distant rumble
  to Titanic-breaking children lost
  in melting crystal tears.
Capturing black pieces
  in a glass-fronted museum
  the white queen rolls
  on the chessboard of the dawn
  squeezing through the valleys
  pausing briefly in the corries
  the Ice-Mother mates
  and a new age is born.
Driving all before her
  un-stoppable, un-straining
  her cold creaking mass
  follows reindeer down.
Thin spreading fingers seek
  to embrace the sill-warm bundles
  that huddle on the doorsteps
  of a white London Town.
Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove.
And the turntable spins
  as the last waltz begins
And the weather-man says
  something's on the move.