the great tree from obscuring fog arose - a sonnet

The great tree from obscuring fog arose,
majestic king of all the gardens near,
its aged branches splayed in prideful pose
in all the land there was no finer peer.

On nearby hill, in weathered manse, there sits
a Lady bloom'd in vibrant vanity
in beaded gowns her ample form just fits
due to a ribbed cage of necessity.

Tree and Mistress both of refined comport,
ones roots strangle, the others air compact,
for beauty's sake do natural form contort.
A grim and harmful unspoken contract.

Tree shrivels, Lady falls, and justice done
for aesthetics have ne'er survival won.

This Friday Flash was brought to you in the Shakespearean mode. I understand I bent the hell out of the iambic pentameter, but I haven't written one of these in close to 7 years. I think for that, I did pretty well. Okay enough for today, I suppose.