An Uphill Drive To Copt Oak Poem by Stephen Wylie

As I ascend the mist grows thick,
Against the screen its tendrils lick.
I flick on headlights, but still can't see.
It feels like freezing cloud to me,
Which of deep murk seems guarantee.

The frost clings white to all the trees,
An eerie landscape of unease.
As I maintain my fogbound climb,
All things grow more encased in rime.
Ice binds to holly, hedge and lime.

Change comes when gloom was at its worst:
I'm in a sea of light immersed!
Then through to brilliant sun I burst,
So swift it feels quite strange at first.
Before startled eyes the view expands;
The icy scene glows palely grand,
A glistening winter wonderland!