Winter

Winter



A chill wind wraps my neck
in tendrils of icy wisps,
wintry fingertips paint the
landscape with lacy hoar frost,
it’s crystalline shine
crowning woven webs of
diamonds decorating fragile wood.

Icicles hang from brittle branches,
as if the bleakness of the
sleeted storm sobbed out its loneliness,
forever trapped as tears of the tree.

I walk the frigid lanes,
paths lying as if dead
in their brutal frozen state,
knowing, that beneath the layer
of frigid hardened snow
lies a hibernating world
awaiting spring's awakening.

Yet, today the spell remains unbroken,
a world of grayed blues and browns
touched by the glistening glow…
Jewels set upon the body of Winter.

© Copyright 2006 P. A. Matthews/E. A. Irwin (UN: pmatthews at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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