The Oak tree in the garden fasts
her luscious bodice skinned
Though dream we did that autumn last,
none could conquer cold coarse wind

Ethereal laces, red and gold
once cloaked her graceful form
As sun-warmed skin, turned white with cold
flesh falls like ladies’ laces torn

Light which drenched her leaves ’til soaked
has vanished long with autumn’s coat
Instead, bare arms, broken and *****
Fight November’s bitter, bleak demote

And then one day I check upon her
Has winter’s brutal beating claimed
vict’ry by that cruel crisp monster
gainst my garden’s fairest dame?

Alas, my prize has not been slain
her beauty ne’er been thieved
For in the night the winter came,
but dressed her as a queen!

Under folds of whitest silk she stands
draped in drops of diamond light
Defeated crude and forceful hands
bow down to such exquisite might

So once again she rises,
sleek and silver stands she now
Transformed by winter’s laces whitest
she shall remain my garden crown