The First Frost: A Winter’s Breath

The first frost whispers in the night,

A silver veil, soft and light,

It kisses earth, it paints the sky,

A fleeting magic, drifting by.

The world, once warm beneath the sun,

Is cloaked in frost, its race begun.

A shimmer on the morning’s face,

A soft, ethereal, perfect grace.

Each blade of grass, each trembling leaf,

Now crowned in ice, beyond belief.

A quiet glow, a frozen bloom,

The world transformed in winter's loom.

The trees stand bare, with arms outstretched,

Their whispers soft, their silence etched,

In sparkling crowns of icy lace,

A crown of beauty, time can't erase.

The air is sharp, the sky so wide,

The frost an artist’s brush, applied.

The dawn is bathed in crystal hue,

A world reborn, a dream anew.

Each step we take, a crackling sound,

The frosty ground beneath is found.

The world a canvas, painted bright,

A fleeting moment in the light.

But soon the sun will rise and burn,

And every icy leaf will turn,

To liquid tears, to vapor’s kiss,

A winter spell we dare not miss.

The magic fades, but in its trace,

The beauty lingers, soft embrace.

For though the frost will not remain,

Its fleeting wonder still sustains.

A frozen moment, quick and pure,

A gift from winter, so demure.

It leaves us breathless, still, and true,

With every step, a world anew.

So let it fall, this icy spell,

A whispered story we can tell.

Of fleeting moments, soft and bright,

That warm our hearts, through winter’s night.

And as we watch the frost unfold,

We see a truth, both young and old:

In nature’s freeze, we find the grace,

Of fleeting beauty in this place.