The Frost’s Quiet Dance

The dawn breaks softly, a silver sigh,

As winter whispers, drawing near.

A breath of cold, a silent sweep,

Awakens the earth from evening’s sleep.

Beneath a sky of softest gray,

A veil of frost begins to dance,

Lacing the branches, bare and thin,

With diamond threads, a delicate skin.

Each leaf, once green, now holds a gleam,

Like whispered secrets in a dream—

A fleeting shimmer, bright and pure,

That speaks of beauty, still and sure.

The world is hushed beneath the glaze,

As morning light begins to praise

The frosty art, the quiet grace,

That coats the land in a soft embrace.

The air, so crisp, it tastes of time,

Of fleeting moments, pure, sublime—

Where every step is etched in white,

And all is still, yet full of light.

The frost, like stars, in silence gleams,

A glittering echo of our dreams—

Of moments caught, not meant to stay,

But etched in memory, fading away.

Each breath is sharp, each shadow deep,

As winter stirs from slumber’s sleep.

And in that magic, cool and clear,

I find the wonder of this year.

For in the frost, the world stands still,

A moment’s peace, a timeless thrill—

A gift, so simple, yet so grand,

A touch of winter’s gentle hand.