Whispers of Frost

Beneath a sky of woven gray,
The season’s first frost finds its way.
A quiet herald, soft and light,
It sweeps the earth in silver-white.

Grass blades shimmer, thinly glazed,
Their emerald hues subdued, amazed.
Leaves, once golden in autumn’s glow,
Now wear a fringe of icy snow.

The morning breathes a crisp, sharp chill,
A hush descends on the quiet hill.
Each twig is cloaked in frozen lace,
A fleeting beauty time can’t replace.

Crystal webs on fences cling,
Diamonds form on every thing.
A whispering wind, both sharp and slow,
Carries the promise of falling snow.

Footsteps crunch in the brittle grass,
A fragile music as moments pass.
The world, renewed, feels soft, serene,
A fleeting glimpse of a winter scene.

Sunlight pierces the frosted veil,
Its warmth begins the frost's frail tale.
The crystals drip, their magic fades,
The earth reclaims its darker shades.

Yet in the heart, the frost remains,
A fleeting joy that nature ordains.
A hint of winter, cold and clear,
The season’s voice, its first whispered cheer.