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,
              Disrupting sleep.
              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.