The Crystallized Garden

There the garden sits, unfamiliar and
remote, a mere vestige of its summer
self, the gardener's pride in its exquisite
perfection nursed and primped to bloom
and thrive, all now desiccated, shrivelled
and wan. And nor can its pleas to be
tended be detected under the weight of
its shroud of ice and snow. The stalks
once verdant and boasting blossoms
stark and dark thrusting defiantly from
the frozen soil. All is silent speaking
of despair as the garden sleeps and
there is no movement from the birds
that once sang in the trees and butterflies
wafting into the shrubbery. The hostile 
wind arouses foliage still clinging to 
vines and stalks, rusted brown and black
unfamiliar and bearing no resemblance
to its fresh piquancy of summer. Nor 
are the impudent garden pests of summer 
that feasted on the fresh green and pastel 
layered petals in evidence, their grubs 
hibernating within the soil below the 
line of frost prepared to emerge in 
distant spring to renew their predatory
 life-cycle in partnership with the
awakening garden demanding restoration.