A child is sitting in a room

A child is sitting in a room
with a hat of blue and white.
I still dream of time you bloomed
and became all pale and light.

Cold is crippling streets of "out"
when it runs with screech and shout.
But the child, without a doubt,
Stares with eyes that speak too loud.

She's a witch. I'm little wicked.
She's a beetle. I'm a cricket.
She is luck and I'm misfortune.
And the cold becomes exhaustion.