Frost - Poem by Angela Wybrow
Upon waking, I pad softly over to my window,
And look out, at the wintry world, down below.
Many of the things which are within my sight,
Are covered with a thin coating of pure white.
I hear car engines running, and ice being scrapped away,
As neighbours nearby, prepare for another working day.
Through the gap, between the houses, stood nearby,
I see a bright patch of beautiful, peach coloured sky.
With icing sugar, the world appears to have been sprinkled.
In the morning sunlight, millions of minute crystals twinkle.
With dazzling diamonds, pavements seem to have been encrusted;
But, my, once sure, footing upon them, can no longer be trusted.
As I walk along the pavement, my feet slide and slip;
It is much more difficult now, to get a really good grip.
My pace, this morning, is much slower than my norm;
I tread much more warily, on this crisp, cold, frosty morn.
Only the very hardiest of plants, will survive and linger,
As, across the land, wicked Jack Frost, points his finger.
Fine, feathery patterns, now decorate the window panes;
But, as beautiful as they are, sadly, they will not remain.
Where the sunlight shines, the frost crystals disappear first,
But, where the shadows fall, crystals take longer to disperse.
Slowly, but surely, the frost melts, as the day wears steadily on,
And, by midday, the last of the glistening crystals, will be gone.
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