A winter morning
On a cold winter morning, the world holds its breath,
Blanketed softly in white, a hush over death.
Frost-kissed branches arch low, adorned like a queen,
The air crisp and biting, sharp edges between.
Footprints crunch gently on pathways concealed,
Whispers of silence, the secrets revealed.
Sunlight, a timid intruder, breaks through the gray,
Casting long shadows where children once played.
Smoke from the chimneys drifts up in soft curls,
A dance of warm comfort, as winter unfurls.
The brook, once a murmur, now slumbers in ice,
Mirrored reflections, a stillness so nice.
Hot breath in the chill, a moment suspended,
Nature’s own canvas, untouched and defended.
The scent of pine lingers, fresh and profound,
While snowflakes like memories drift slowly around.
Time seems to pause, as if caught in a dream,
The world wrapped in wonder, a soft silver gleam.
And as the day stretches, with skies painted blue,
The cold winter morning whispers hope anew.