The First Frost

A breath of winter lingers still,

As dawn unveils the frosty chill.

The earth, once warm, now wears a coat

Of silver sheen, like whispers float.

Each blade of grass, a crystal crown,

The branches bend in silence down.

The air, so crisp, a steady hum,

As nature wakes, the cold has come.

The frost, so fleeting, soft as dreams,

A fleeting moment, like moonbeams.

It paints the world in quiet grace,

A masterpiece in time and space.

Beneath the sky, so pale and wide,

The shimmer whispers, side by side.

And in the stillness, hearts align,

With winter’s beauty, pure, divine.

A magic born with morning’s light,

The first frost glistens, soft, polite.

And though it fades with warming rays,

Its fleeting touch forever stays.