A poem that captures the fleeting magic of the season’s first frost and brings winter’s beauty to life

A poem that captures the fleeting magic of the season’s first frost and brings winter’s beauty to life

Murmur of the Ice

A silver cover dives in quiet,

The world embellished in winter's brush.

Every piece of sod, a precious stone wand,

Bound to the earth by ice's firm bond.

The sunrise shows up, her breath aglow,

A brilliant kiss on ice's scene.

Branches wear outfits of frosty ribbon,

Jewels rest where shadows follow.

The transitory enchantment mixes the air,

A mystery told with delicate consideration.

Leaves, presently weak, murmur tunes,

Reverberations of harvest time, passing, long.

Underneath the tranquil, life lies still,

The waterway's edge, the frozen slope.

However murmurs wind through chilled span,

A commitment held in winter's position.

The robin jumps with cautious track,

His reality changed, his way far and wide.

Ice gets feathers, short lived white,

A short lived phantom of morning light.

The sky, a material, pale and clear,

Welcomes the stars to wait close.

Their glimmering eyes, a watcher's look,

Give a quiet to frozen days.

Every snowflake plays with reality,

A wonder of delicate beauty.

No two the same, yet no different either way,

A temporary dance without a name.

Kids hurry to welcome the morn,

Their giggling fresh, the air reawakened.

Boots smash on ice, their cheeks burning,

Lighting winter's upbeat case.

But the ice starts to blur,

Its excellence fashioned, its concise motorcade.

The sun climbs, its touch excessively warm,

Scattering winter's delicate appeal.

Yet, in the heart, the ice remains,

A flash of miracle that supports.

The brief enchantment of its craft,

Carved always in the heart.

So as the seasons haggle,

What's more, hearth fires shine, and candles consume,

Recollect ice's most memorable delicate kiss —

A brief spell, a second's euphoria.

The dawn arrives, a hushed ballet,

A silver veil begins to lay.

The breath of winter softly creeps,

A fleeting touch where autumn sleeps.

Upon the meadow, faintly white,

The frost unfurls in quiet light.

Each blade of grass, a crystal wand,

Gleams with the charm of frost’s command.

The trees, unburdened by the snow,

Stand robed in sequins’ fleeting glow.

Their branches, etched with fragile lace,

Bear winter’s artistry, its grace.

The river, once a flowing tune,

Now whispers low beneath the moon.

Its surface, kissed by frost’s cool hand,

Glimmers like glass, a frozen strand.

The air, a sharp yet gentle bite,

Fills lungs with whispers of the night.

A stillness lingers, pure and deep,

As nature rests in twilight’s keep.

Children’s laughter breaks the spell,

Their breath a mist, their joy a bell.

With mittens tight and scarves unfurled,

They dance within this frost-kissed world.

Footprints etch upon the ground,

A fleeting map where joy is found.

Yet even they, like morning's frost,

Will fade when winter pays its cost.

The sky, a canvas soft and gray,

Holds secrets of the coming day.

Will snow descend, in swirling flight,

Or will the sun reclaim its light?

The first frost teases what’s to come,

The quiet promise of winter’s hum.

Its magic lingers, brief and bright,

A prelude to the endless white.

Yet in its transient, tender art,

It carves its way into the heart.

A fleeting moment, sharp and clear,

That whispers: Winter’s grace is near.

The gardens sigh, the flowers sleep,

Encased in frost’s ephemeral keep.

Their petals, frail yet shining bold,

Wear fleeting gems of icy cold.

Each frozen droplet, each still leaf,

Speaks softly of the season's brief

Embrace of stillness, calm, and care,

A beauty rich beyond compare.

The frost retreats as sunlight spreads,

Its diamonds fade, its sparkle sheds.

Yet memories linger in the light,

Of winter’s kiss, that fleeting night.

And so we stand, both chilled and warm,

Awed by the first frost's quiet storm.

For in its touch, we see anew

The fleeting beauty of frost’s debut.