Haven't I grimaced
at those gray, arthritic limbs,
(twisted, wretched,
too spent in self-indulgence
to offer a single bud
at spring's ripe altar),
disdained how they spindled
among their gangly brothers
who clung in haughty, skyward resolution
to every jagged leaf,
long shriveled
...as if in clutching tighter
you might gloat in the nakedness
of a nearby maple,
taunt the winter holly,
or share its berried glory?
And yet,
here,
now,
when all my world is ice-laden,
a realm of trees moans in chorus
like the leaking dirge of disheveled graveyards;
the bough of ash just above my head
creaks its own eminent misery; the shrill snap of branches,
seen and unseen,
start
like earth-trapped lightning;
and I stand hushed,
bemused
at how regally you wear your frozen robe,
permitting unaffected moonlight
to glisten along each lofty limb's length,
to sparkle, soft, upon every tender twig;
my eyes fall
when you dance a king's dance
within the heavy winds,
allowing not one limb to sweep the ground,
and I understand
in full
I have played
the jester.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Bravo!...Bookmarked!
Only saw one (very minor) thing to point out this time - "and i stand hushed," (the "i" isn't a capital). 
