Frosty crisp path
Leading down to the stream
Turning all wet below the knee
And the frozen pock marked earth
Guides through the mist
That's refusing to go away
Icing the land with a glorious hail of dancing whiteness
Rose hips begin to drip
Their nightly icy dew
Like wet gloves
Sparkling in the dawn's first rays
Flickering ruby diamonds amongst thorns
And the steely blue of the still morn
Can await the life giving sun
And continue to silhouette the black veined trees in the distance
Then, as if by some primordial magic
She is there, post perched
Delicate red breast warming the tiny sphere of air around her
And around the bend
The stream steams
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful wintery imagery. Very crisp and concise, I could see every detail in my mind's eye. Brilliant wordsmithery CD - HG: -) xx