My Round Oak Stove

That awful wicked witch of the North 
hurls her bitter, angry invective 
from some Siberian wilderness.
She blows a cold tone over my chimney
as if to play a contra-bassoon or didgeridoo.

To meet her incessant nastiness, 
the round iron maiden named Oak
with eisenglass eyes and pleated skirt,
sporting a Tiara and collar, 
she exhausts a warm incense to dispel the witches curse.

All Winter long, the evil North witch
intones her incessant angry song,
my maiden with open mouth and arms
needs to be fed with Ash, Elm, and Oak,
to champion our righteous cause against northern terror.

With zest proportionate to that scorn
the witch pours down from her northern realm,
her scent becomes smooth when the wind
temporar’ly eases her temper 
to give those in the house a welcome coziness and warmth.

Now that spring is nearly upon us, 
the north Witch once again defeated,  
and the maiden softens her ardor
combating the witches moaning song,
she can rest a while in summer when she will get washed up.
                                                   February, 2012