Morning Frost

Morning Frost

The dawn arrives on whispered breath,

A silken hush of nature’s death.

The first frost graces earth’s soft face,

A crystalline and fleeting lace.

Each blade of grass, a jeweled thread,

With silver spun where green once bled.

The trees wear gowns of fragile white,

Their branches dance in morning light.

The air is sharp, yet sweetly sings,

Of winter’s calm and snow-bound things.

A moment still, the world adorned,

Where time forgets the sun is mourned.

Beneath the frost, the earth still dreams,

Of warming days and thawing streams.

But for now, the magic stays,

A frozen kiss on autumn’s haze.