Frost at First Glance

Beneath the velvet hush of dawn,

Where whispers tread the frozen lawn,

The world is painted, white and fine,

A fleeting brush of winter's sign.

Each blade of grass, a crystal shard,

Adorned in frost's embrace, unmarred,

A glimmering veil, soft and thin,

That heralds winter's dance within.

The trees stand still, their branches bare,

Yet silver threads are woven there.

A fragile lace in morning’s glow,

A fleeting gift the frost bestows.

The air is sharp, a glassy chill,

That bends the light and time stands still.

Each breath, a cloud, ephemeral,

A fleeting ghost, ethereal.

Panes of glass, with patterns spun,

By fingers cold, yet deftly done.

Fractal blooms of icy art,

That winter crafts with patient heart.

Beneath the frost, the earth still sleeps,

Dreaming deep where silence keeps.

Yet hints of life, though soft, persist,

In winter’s shadow, they exist.

A child steps out, her gaze alight,

Eyes wide with wonder at the sight.

Her breath escapes, a fleeting mist,

Her hands outstretched for frost’s first kiss.

But soon the sun will rise and burn,

And warmth, relentless, will return.

The frost will melt, the magic fade,

Its secrets in the daylight laid.

Yet in its wake, a memory stays,

Of winter’s early, tender gaze.

A fleeting frost, a whispered vow,

Of beauty held in the here and now.