The beauty of winter morning
Winter mornings, soft and still,
A world of white, a breath of chill.
The air is sharp, yet calm and pure,
Each snowflake falls, a gentle lure.
The sky, a pale and quiet hue,
As dawn unveils its icy view.
The trees stand bare, but grand and tall,
Their branches etched in crystal call.
The crunch beneath each careful step,
The world in silence, lightly swept.
A breath of frost upon the air,
A beauty few will stop to share.
The sun peeks shyly from the east,
Its golden glow, a fleeting feast.
The ice-capped lakes in stillness gleam,
Like mirrors holding winter’s dream.
The quiet hum of frozen breath,
A peaceful pause, untouched by death.
In every flake, a story told—
Of winter’s grace, both young and old.
In this still world, we pause to see,
The quiet beauty, wild and free.