Withered Vanities

Oh treachery that you should so despise
my fair and bonny mien with scant disguise.
Nature that erstwhile did bear me quarter
hath turned to spite and doth love me shorter,
adopting now a cold and distant air,
my heart replete with darkness and despair.
How beauty fair and youthful personage,
mere vanities, do wither so with age.
Mine eyes must close as doth my weary heart
to guard 'gainst winter's chiding frigid art,
and rest upon the hearth and hope of spring
for all the vibrant joys that it may bring.

Gypsy Sparrowhawk