From blade of grass to the tip of twig,
The white dust of winter fall’s.
Frenzied flakes move in lost abandonment,
Finally pitch on fence and wall’s.
On the throat the rasping of cold crisp air,
The sound of snow crunching underfoot.
As the day grows short, and night draws in,
Now the journey homeward took.
Familiar shapes come into view,
There outlines soften by the snow.
What once were roofs, now don white overcoats,
With ice jewellery now on show.
The old mill wheel lies motionless,
So still the little stream.
Held fast by Jack Frost clutches,
In a Christmas greeting scene.
Chinks of light through windows,
Gives some comfort and delight.
Cast a beam with an incandescent glow,
On white grains as they glisten bright.
At the door the latch clicks open,
And with thud is now latched again.
Keeping winter firmly on the out side,
withIn, thoughts of summer to retain
© Nicholas Windle. 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great imagery and very descriptive poem. I liked the line 'with ice jewellery now on show.. I'm new on here Look me up some time Steve