Lady Winter

Twirling ghosts wrapped, ethereal, around

Gothic spires, arabesque in silhouette

And piercing the ashen moonlight. She

Walked on misty stepping stones gleaming wet

With slippery pearls of burnished stones which

Whetted Her hungry appetite to sate

Need from Autumn’s demise. She stepped lightly

Round the orchids, admiring each new trait

Upon the bare branches which colour had

Once dominated. Bright, sharp crimson set

Against canvas of vivid emerald.

All this turned to deep magenta and let

Golden grandeur overtake the view. In

Time, this faded, and the trees stood cold and

Unadorned in their fashion. Winter put

Her cold feet in the bitter garden, and

Went about her work. She flitted lightly

Upon sprightly toes, from one cold wisp to

Another, each time stopping to lay the

Winter’s caress upon the crystal dew.

Deciphered by recitals of some old,

Sweet haunting musics which bathed the garden

In whim and wanton fantasies of a

Fetid conductor, while strange charms hardened

The ground, evasive worms beneath dug still

Deeper, seeking the embrace of warmth. Time,

Forever in divine servitude had

Aided Her work as She witch-touched sublime

Summer’s pride and diseased it with her smile.

Drear decay of July’s serenades still

Echoed about the place, sunken to dreams

Of failure and the Sun’s honour did spill

As its prominence upon the world slipped

Into bondage. Yet She was not assailed

By its crash, and spread her grin across the

Grounds about her. Sombre lots to till. Veiled

By abomination’s clawed hand, she danced

Around, clothing all in snow and new frost.

Yet the grounds were ringed with calm majesty,

Even through Winter’s assault, was not lost.

Grandeur survives at any squalid cost…

©Daegal