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,...