Font Color='#880000'What Beauty's There [spenserian Sonnet] /Font Poem by David Zvekic

White midnight flakes fall startled all around:
Their lolling dance is hope for winds' sojourn;
As millions softly play embraced to ground,
Their crystal shimmers sigh to woo the morn.
Wind's claws won't cut; her cool caress feels worn;
Her frozen breath, that dawn, belays to blow,
And drifts so soon afar that hearts might warm
These furrowed brows: woods carved in ice and snow.
No tracks may tread this place, no maps can show
Such buried treasures that her hands have found,
Where beauty also wends (high spirits know)
Soft tendrils breathe - just barely scarce in sound -
    And hold cruel winter's blade from frozen air,
    That beauty might reveal what beauty's there.

-December 13,2005