The Heart of Frost

Suddenly, it struck
crisp as that winter day:
“Look!” I said. “A heart – right there.”

We watched buds in spring
turn deep green from gold
the heart then secret,
whispering beneath
rich hues that fell away

Only cold laid bare its beauty
lightning creator defied;
silenced by irony

Then the trimmers came
methodical and swift,
oblivious by task, duty
And as the chipper ground,
I knew again what Frost meant:
“Nothing gold can stay.”