Sunday, December 20, 2009

Winter
The forest floor is blanketed in white
as flurried snowflakes gently drift down
falling silently, cold in the night.
Crisp air rushes through
rustling stripped branches of oaks.
Crackling, they speak secrets true.
"It is here", says the trees.
"Winter", they whisper...
"Our branches no longer bear their leaves."
Upon every limb, icicles dance and shimmer
illuminated by moon's light,
on the ground, the fallen snow does glimmer.
Creating soft white wonderlands,
Old man winter thrives
This, the season of frostiness, is in his knowing hands.
Meanwhile beneath the snow now deep,
Mother earth rests in peaceful slumber.
Until spring she'll stay this way, in old man winter's keep.
©Tracy Libby