In the frigid grasp of a winter's hush,
I stand alone, a burning bush.
A paradox in nature's sweetest rhyme,
Cold as ice, yet aflame through time.

Beneath the moon's pale, silvery sheen,
A spectral glow, both fierce and keen.
Embers flicker in an icy breeze,
A dance of contrasts that no one sees.

Each frosty leaf, a delicate array,
Whispers tales of a chilling display.
Yet, within, a fire quietly glows,
Defying winter's relentless throes.

A paradox in the frozen night,
Where frost and flame entwine so tight.
Silent warmth in an icy hush,
I am as cold as a burning bush.

Through crystal branches, starlight weaves,
A story that the night sky conceives.
Illuminated by the cold moon's gleam,
A paradox, a poet's dream.

The chill may bite, the frost may sting,
Yet, in this paradox, emotions cling.
A heart that beats with a fiery hush,
Cold as ice, in a burning bush.

In the silent symphony of frost,
A tale of contrasts, a love almost lost.
Yet, within the cold's relentless push,
Love prevails, in the burning bush.

So, in the quiet of this wintry trance,
I find warmth in the cool expanse.
A paradox, a cosmic crush,
I am as cold as a burning bush.

© Saighoe Francis Asilfie Kweku