The Imbibed Cold Forms Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The imbibed cold forms of the outside spears
With the silvery glow threads of the sky
Moon on the edge of the cloudy flowing tears
Yesterday's morning in their dimming high
And the flowers of frosty laid roses earth
In colors of glowing mirrors evening
From existence to the dark of gleaming birth
Where every winter song now's to sing

You're roses of frosty family tree
Picking the thorns of the icily cold
Each of your glisten moods I can now see
In flickering shadows I cannot hold
Nearness of yonder not faraway clouds
With their gloomy seize on the earth going crowds