Cold
Crisp
and cold,
the morning
slipping,
from night
and stars,
the opening day,
yet foretold,
For dawn,
her light,
is awakening low,
in creases
of sky,
the opening hour,
in colours bright,
and winter gold.
For an eastern
wind
is lifting light,
to dreams,
to daylight,
the birth
of Spring,
in the tearful dark
of winter’s eyes,
crisp and gold,
that March
in rain,
and storm
will bring.
Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
p1964km@googlemail.com
