The color of spring is in the flower.
The color of winter is in the imagination.
Periwinkle skies, cold winter morning
After a stormy night of sleet and snow
Icicles in tree branches glistening
Invitingly from the upstairs window
The winter scene calls to her child within
Even though outside it’s seven below
So frigid few moments could burn the skin
Thus bundled up layered earmuffs goggles
Out the door knowing just where to begin
With heavy boots up the hill she struggles
But at the top the view’s fascinating
A winter nirvana just for Mughals
Snow-mantled hills rolling undulating
As the early sun peeks from the skyline
Evergreens ice-embellished and gleaming
Snowscape spectacular, a sacred shrine
A noble monument to His greatness
Magnificent mystical and divine!
But it’s fleeting; a touch of bitterness
She sighs, breathing in scene she’d remember
For renewal in times of loneliness
Periwinkle skies, shades of lavender
It’ll warm her wintry nights now and ever!
© Vic Evora
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