Ode to Frost

 

Ode to Frost

 

The frost which falls before the dawn

To settle in a sheet of white

Whilst painted leaves and flowers are born

Of sheer delight

 

Exquisite patterns formed of ice

Festoons of fractal filigree

Too fine for mankind’s crude device

Or artistry

 

The delicate white flower or fern

Which grows upon the silver pond

Cannot be picked! For it will burn

And melt the frond

 

The sun arises from the mist

With its thin warmth, from winter bed

The magic growths are now dismissed

And all are fled