The first frost paints the window panes
with filigrees of silver white
The artist takes the greatest pains
to ensure that he gets it right.
Though very sad it’s also true.
His artistry is all in vain,
it only lasts an hour or two
before the glass is clear again.
We can enjoy it for a while.
That is what we’re meant to do.
Tomorrow in his usual style
he will have painted it anew.
A different pattern put on show
created there on my window.
28-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Great work ivor full of imagery, sensitivity and artistically presented.Just a great piece of writing.Dedicated to a wonderful writer and marvellous person also. Best Wishes, Sid.
Is this one writen for OUR Lady Ernestine? She's worthy of anyone's poetry. Lovely stuff, Ivor. As always..... Love Fran xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Now this one I really love, it reminds me of when I was a child and we had no central heating and we would wake up in the morning to these wondereful patterns on the glass. They were just beautiful, it is a shame one doesn't see them so often now. The art of God. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX