The Cold Declining Sun Poem by Andy Allan

Breath clouds blossom, disappear,
hard tractor ruts are dry.
Frozen fingers, drip-raw nose,
three cawing crows sail by.

In ice-drop crystal tears, be-jeweled
the hardy hawthorn stands,
berry-stripped and sharp-thorn armed,
as Winter's grip demands.

Lichen, grey on old tree wood,
young growth glows sun-sink red.
Sour setting sun, sheds orange light
where waxwing thieves have fed.

At daylight's last declining flare,
an amber, fading, flush.
Low-angled, radiant, soft light beams,
snow-flake-fall, gentle hush.

Robin, sprightly, bright black eye,
brave, silent searcher bold,
as twilight looms, protects himself,
tight-feathered in the cold.