Shimmering Whispers of Winter

Glowing Winterfeld

The ice beneath the darkling veil was so bright,

Stirring, stirring all aglow.

With tender fingers spreading wide its sway,

With icy mitts, it decks the earth below.

Winter's breath so light, yet stern as yet,

It falls on the hill and the mead.

Glittering in frosty coronal,

With frozen jewels for the fence of the ground.

Silver laces are the blades of grass,

Nature's handwork that the zephyrs lap in a caress.

Glassy panes preserve delicate roads

Since sleeping whispers tell of dreaming.

There is no band of sounds, no great applause,

Yet frost takes to play, and pauses never.

Its glory so delicate is a refrain,

'Life's joy is shadowed by pain, speak it plain.

A dream that ebbs like morning streams,

Morning's early light upon the canvas gleams.

Each fleeting hour is a glow so rare,

Here for a beat, then bid to go.

The frost teaches in unfailingly unspoken ways

O how to value hours, days which flee.

In quiet find a deep calm,

At things' ending sweetly set free.

For life, like frosts, the day's work is,

Delicate beauty souls cheer.

Its touch may stop, its form elapse,

But spirit to the marks it's massed.

Windows frost, a painter's chisel play,

This leaves the message we read this way.

Whatever love we hold so dear,

Dearer by time's patina spread here.

It holds within its unseen plea,

To see the world as 'tis meant to see.

Tapestry woven with colourless threads,

A dance of life that nothing's dead.

When the sun shines warm and the frost is gone,

Its legacy in bittersweet feats lies.

A short ornament, a passing crown,

Beauty reminds one of the time when it weighs down.

O, stop awhile here in the frosty hug,

The transiency of beauty fills up.

For in its silence, one can find ,

The vulnerable beauty of this mystery of life.