Cruelty of Ice
As hours amass and days pass by,
The Wind grows cold, its wintry sigh.
Leaves once green, relent to gold,
Tired and old, And soon covered by a snowy net
Captured for three months too many.
If only I’d long ago realized the cruelty of Ice.
I would’ve sought comfort in Fire’s advice.
Instead, I lay victim to Winter’s blow.
My spirit low.
There’s peace in distraction, and yet
I find, here, there isn’t any.
The bitter Air, though no friend of Death,
Feeds my despair to draw each breath.
Menacing crystals pound the panes.
My courage wanes.
A kindred Tree across the field
Barren, shares this dismal fate.
Life denied between Autumn and Spring
A silent World waits for–anything.
And then, a shift in the wooded deep,
The weary Wind begins to yield.
Sun melts Snow upon the gate.
Slowly and safely, warm pulses spread.
With wary heart, I lift my head
And look to the field Tree, predicting gloom,
Its glacial doom.
Bewildered, I gaze upon its height
Glistening straight and true.
Some survive Winter despite merciless Snow,
Believing in things that stubbornly grow.
Though I’m cursed with sullen rejection
Of Spring’s convection,
I nevertheless endure the long, frigid Night
As the wisest of field Trees do.