"Frostspin"

Upon the breast of woven time,

A chain of dusk, of verdant grime,
There hung a wheel of elder days,
Forged in fire and time-worn ways.

Its iron teeth, with blue beset,
Did whisper truths men oft forget.

So goes the tale of how she gained her name: By Feelin’ Punky

Forged in the hush of a midnight gale,
Where icicles hum and the gearwinds wail,
A cog of blue from time's own grin—
They call her heart the Frostspin.

It ticks with frost, it turns with grace,
A whispering chill in clockwork lace.
Worn by wanderers lost in snow,
And dreamers from the steam below.

So wear it close and heed its chime,
A frost-kissed thread through gears of time.