Engulfed by what the wind blew in,

she shudders in her sleep;

talons of the purest ice

carve memories so deep

they wrap her in a snowy grave,

where dreams become her days;

her heart cries foul, she prays for hope,

and waits for Summer’s rays.

Court is in Session

Downy heads,

forest of the venerable,

sit in judgement of our age.

Shaking quaking locks,

they shudder at the cruelty

of those designed for love.

Juried leaves flutter anxiously in  gossip –

“Did you hear that he …”

“She did what?…” 

and  trunks tremble with disbelief.

So much boldness

in the ways of deceit and faithlessness.

Wind mourns softly,

ruffling the feathers of the Elders

who silently pronounce

the humans in the dock