Outside the glittering air is bright,
frost crystals glisten in the light,
a bitter wind sharpens its bite,
teasing a few stiff leaves to flight.
It finds in restlessness a tight
fierce chill, like muscles clenched to fight,
needling uncovered skin with spite
and then breathes out a cloud of white,
a momentís ghost, a shape so slight
it freezes almost before sight
has marked its passing. Snowflakes write
their shaky message to unite
coldís elements in silver night.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, D.A. Prince would be
pleased to hear them