The Frost Will Come

The frost lies silently, serenely upon the fields

and all things whisper in its sight.

It is an end to summer yields

and the start of winter nights.

It touches everything, wood or bone,

and buries itself in deep places.

When it calls, it calls each its own

and for long after, leaves its traces.

But even the cold, in its longest run

is finite in its reign

For soon warmth and the summer sun

will push it back again.