Morning Poem, February 4, 2017

 

 

At first light the lawns were blessed

With the finest lace of frost

The white whisper absorbing color

Like the first frame in some movie

Where we dim in on what might have been a dream.

.

Even the birds were quiet then

For those several moments

When the balance between the frigid air

And the warm earth

Held, like an indrawn breath.

.

 

Copyright 2017

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