In a realm where frost doth kiss the peaks so high, Where mountains mighty cleave the azure sky, There lies a tale, both grievous and profound, Of an avalanche, whose fury knew no bound.
In a hamlet nestled 'neath the alpine crest, Unaware of what would put their fate to test, Sixty-three souls, in daily toil engaged, Unknowing that their end was thusly staged.
From heights untold, with thunderous, fearsome roar, Down came the snow, like Neptune's mighty oar. In swift descent, it swallowed land and life, Leaving naught but echoes of the strife.
But lo! The tale grows grimmer in its tell, For destiny had yet a darker spell. Two hundred fifty more, in path forlorn, Were marked by nature's icy, wrathful scorn.
The avalanche, like Jove's unbridled ire, Unleashed its cold with devastating fire. It carved its way through hearth and home alike, A tyrant king, none could dare to strike.
So heed this tale of nature's fickle hand, That wields its power o'er sea, air, and land. For in its wake, we find but sorrow's toll, A reminder of our fragile, mortal role.
Let this story in our hearts be kept, For those we lost, for those who wept. In memory of the lives, it claimed that day, We stand, we mourn, we hope, we pray.