The Moon's Winter Kingdom

A Winter's night peeps through
the fogged window pane,
outside the naked trees
desire the end of this,
their protracted sleep.
The long endured cold of this boreal
they have defiantly endured, renewed
sap awaits, to rises up to greet a new born Spring.
Through the misty, ardorless haze
of Winter's near end, the luminous,
shy moon gazes through: hidden treasures
it perceives; the dew dripped spider's
labyrinth, the scampering field mouse.
Now like an ancient chieftain
sitting on a brilliant throne,
she seeks whoever wronged in her eyes;
for they fade in her long shadow,
not realising their solitude.