A freezing wind chills the air around the ice shrouded mound.

A freezing wind chills the air around the ice shrouded mound.
There at the pinnacle, a forlorn, dying oak stands tall,
Skeletal branches void of leaves clawing skyward abound.
Unloved and forgotten, yet refusing ever to fall.
Don’t doubt how I know of this desolate place dead as bone,
For the visage shaped by the bark is my very own.

Shackled within my eternal winter, inside I cry
For a warmer season I desperately yearn to greet.
Then that splendid day, the arrival of summer I spied.
By a benefaction of serendipity did we meet.
With her loving radiance, thawed she did my icy shell,
To elevate me from my chilly, misbegotten hell.

How I long for inner warmth, your life-giving kisses.
Due your brilliance you owned my defrosted heart at the start.
Days to come, I shall be honored to call you my misses.
The freezing, numbing pain is gone all because of your part.
Nothing compares to the happiness and kindness you brought,
All my days, unknowing summer’s love is what I have sought.

Witness the once woebegone hill now a lush, verdant place.
The oak flowing with vitality, branches filled with green.
Within vibrant bark no sadness seen, just a joy filled face.
Dwelling in the heavens above, the sun is always seen.
No other season, ever present rays always near.
The cold of winter is gone for summer’s embrace is here.


See all poetry for Robert Justin Mize #01032802