Itís Winter

Snow is glistening in the sun
Reflecting back at everyone
The brilliant white - itís winter;
Breezes blowing cannot make
Waves or ripples on a lake
Thatís now an icy mirror;

Everything is purest white
Hurts your eyes to see the sight
Of Mother Natureís winter dress;
Hills and meadows look the same
While Jack Frost plays his painting game,
Trying to outdo his best;

Many trees, with branches bare
Upon this scene can only stare
While shivering in the cold;
Still and silent is the land
Painted white by a skillful hand,
Not a trace of green or gold;

Springtime green has disappeared
So fast, it seems a little weird,
Like pretty summer flowers;
Gone the yellow, red and brown
That Autumn always brings around,
Now all is white - itís winter.

© 2001 Fay Herridge


Wonders of Life

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