My skin is white, as white as snow, my bones will easily break,

Inside me is a heart of gold, which others like to take.

--

Mother's nectar, aged like wine,

Sliced and melted, dull and fine.

What is it?

---

In me all hidden things remain, 

when I touch clouds they storm with rain. 

I stalk at day and flood at night, 

and penetrate all sight.

--

I am ice that's made from fire, 

never melts and can't expire. What am I?