Alright. Prolly none of you have any clue what this poem is going on about, but Ed asked me to post it 'cause we did these in an exercise at the meeting, so enjoy anyway:

snowflakes drifting onto the bark,
huddling under the ridges
and fruit tumbles from his hand
dislodges the cold white dust from the log
as it bounces off and onto the ground
Kvothe
tattered clothing, hunting knife, ivory skin
dull eyes
freezing mist hanging all around him
everything gone, taken
even the inn...
even Bast.

Yes, it is a fanfiction poem, but I swear there aren't any spoilers, only one book of this trilogy out. The book is, by the way, The Name of Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. READ IT, GODDAMN YOU. It's his frikkin' debut novel and is in the fantasy genre and it's effing brilliant. I think that says something about him.