The Poddington Project: Christine DeWinter

The Forest of Ice

In spring a footpath led me
From fragrant gardens bright
Deep into the forest drear
Where darkness lay like night.

Branches o'er my head were
Stretched. Forbidding hands
They seemed, and still they beckoned me
Into forbidden lands.

The grass no longer grew there
Where shadow dancers played.
The air went chill around me. White
Breath its wisps displayed.

I left the spring behind me;
Sad I was to part.
Colder grew my journey still
Unto the forest's heart.

Here at the center, sunless
Lay a frozen grove
Where May warmth had not ventured yet,
So thick the trees above.

My footpath there then ended,
Frosted underfoot.
The wind moaned low, and painful cold,
To chill the place I stood.

Branches cased in snow--
Water adamant--
Hoary frost cracked 'neath my feet.
All hope was now but scant.

I knelt down in that forest
Beside a marker where
The snow was thick, but brushed away
I saw what led me there.

A casket locked and sealed.
A casket made of lead.
I took the key and opened it
And saw just what it hid.

I closed the box too quickly.
I did not look there twice.
Within it lay what long I'd lost--
My heart, fashioned in ice.

I left the box behind me
And once more gained the May.
Though flowers bloom, the frozen grove
Will hold my heart alway.

(Vance Briceland)