As someone who really loves and appreciates Winter, I can honestly say this is poem lays the writer’s vision out perfectly. Imagine standing in a forest filled with trees, blanketed by snow, and bearing witness to the snowflakes as they fall. Beautiful!
An awesome scene the artist paints, expert, and deft his hand.
Brushstrokes swift, he draws with ease, a winter wonderland.
Landscape sketched from memory, heavens and land entwine
Rapidly the scene is set, exquisitely divine.
Pine trees reaching tall and proud, like statues standing still.
There is no wind to speak of, more an icy winter chill.
Strong branches dusted with the snow stretch their fingers high
As if welcoming the blanket bequeathed by the darkened sky.
Crisp snowflakes twirl like dancers, pirouetting to and fro,
Waltzing to their silent tune toward the ground below.
Pale moonlight generously showers diamonds all around.
Its treasure glints and sparkles upon the hardened ground.
Snowfall in shades of silver envelops the land below,
Lighting up the darkness with its soothing, gentle glow.
Mellow in its nature, no preference where it lays,
Takes refuge where and when it can, throughout the winter days.
Though bereft of colour is the scene, prevailing grey, and white,
Its awe-inspiring beauty is apparent day and night.
Who nonchalantly paints this scene, for all on earth to share?
His strokes proficient every time, precise and so aware.
Jack Frost paints wondrous pictures with his palette of frozen dew,
Then stands back when his work is done and proudly admires the view.
Written by: Suzanne Bates
Photo credit: Yahoo.com/images