Frost
J Ann Crowder
Frost touches tree pines, as sun sprinkled kisses dance off white, feathered dust
Near, are those fairy silver-sheen wings glistening below, and wild berries red bedazzling mine eyes
Cold, this icy bend, illuminated by umbrellas of snow heavy branches engulfing—a hanging canopy whispering winter’s entrance upon a great picturesque
Where lakes froze, and those spirited fairies skirted across it’s crisp, teal surface
All is genteel & kind—quiet as those brilliant, sacred charades send a soundless thunder through my being
Winter, at last approached, where motion slows, thoughts are keen, and a stillness of ghostly spirits praise
This ebb of frost, biting rosy cheeks, painting a cove with miraculous purifying whites
Tender, and soul rushed silence those still promenades procure
A realness of magic explodes, as ice-lands abound all around with winter fairyland and frost blooming alive
My winter poem this year
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