Once copious, my heart, like trees lie bare.
Beneath dark skies are bursts of white despair
as winter chill takes toil down fallow road.
I can't remember warmth of times bestowed.
Take what you will from winter's stormy thrill,
but I shall hibernate in summer still.
Flamed tea nor fireplace can warm me not.
Not even spring can thaw this frigid spot.
Within this crypt, ‘neath gelid canopy,
on frozen bed, death lays and waits for me.
Slow beating pulse to hold this dormant state,
for it's my heart the frost did desecrate.
If set afire, still, I'll shiver through.
Not even flames will melt my heart like you.