The moon and stars have fled
from day break, cold and clear.
Each ice laced window reveals
a night change to a snowy world,
pristine as the first light steals.
Golden beams probe to catch
gilt knives on skeleton trees,
that stab with a silvery light.
Crystals flash, ice gems catch,
all glancing, dancing, bright.
An Arctic land frozen and still
in a muffled sparkling ermine,
billows softly without a mark.
Except from the dappled tracks
of those who came in the dark.
Glory is now rising over all as
gold threads the high meadows,
caressed by a cold azure breeze.
The rippling brook sparkles still,
free yet from the winter freeze
In this splendour the red robin,
wooed from the path of strife,
forages with a sparkling eye.
And a blackbird on the tree top ?
sings high for the joy of life.
J W 9.9.16