True beauty that is never seen,
Yet ever lies beneath summer’s green,
Cold winter’s searing touch lays bare.
Pitiless gales and frosts reveal
Forms that frivolous leaves conceal,
Skeletons delicate and fair,
Of twisted twigs, pods void of seeds,
Stiff stems and stark unbending reeds,
Gossamer fine, lacelike and rare.
Alone, each stands clearly defined
After the storm, one of its kind,
Vital, unique, engraved on air.