A Frosty Morning Winter’s breath descends with a quiet might,

Crafting the world in a pale haze,

Trees bow low in the crisp white lace,

While nature sleeps in a dozy daze.

The air is sharp with unspoken dreams,

A silence heartlike, quiet and deep,

Frosty whispers brush over leaves,

As silence holds his magic keep.

Here frost paints every branch like glass,

In glimmered beauty, stillness reigns,

Each creak and crack awakens the morn—

Winter’s laughter, free of chains.

• John Gould Fletcher