Frosted Morn
A frosted morn, the world aglow, With diamonds on the grass; The sun arrives to melt the snow, As shadows slowly pass.
The trees, adorned in pearly lace, Bow low beneath the weight; A silent majesty of grace, This beauty feels like fate.
The crisp air bites, yet warms the heart, Each breath a cloud of white; In winter’s chill, we find the art Of fleeting, pure delight.
So let me walk this frosted land, With wonder shining bright; For in this moment, hand in hand, I bask in nature’s light.
- M H McGlashan