She stares angrily at the sky
Twisted, gnarled, old and cold.
Stark bare branches harsh
Against a winter landscape.
A slight warmth, she tingles inside.
Slowly her fingers start to unfurl
A new season, a new design.
French manicure on her fingertips.
Days of warmth, sharp, painted buds
Appear like a witch’s crimson talons.
Clawing their way free from slumber
Reaching for the sun, waving hands.
Suddenly perfect blooms burst forth,
Soft as sumptuous balls of ice cream.
She dances gently in the breeze wearing her
Meringue styled wedding dress for all to see.
We are all, she proclaims, let us be,
Old and twisted, soft and delightful. Let us
Be the old witch and the good fairy too
Let us show you, we are all, all women.