poet & painter



Now is the time of winter’s borrowed light
That falls more silent than the night,
It is born not of the stars or moon,
But by the stirring of the borealis spoon.
Some say it is the down of angel’s wings
or fallen notes from paradisal strings,
It is unique in form and cluster
With a melting touch more subtle than a sable duster.
Its blankets, ridge cap, chimney, stack and slate,
Placing pillows on the hedgerows and stoles along the gate,
It veils in finest lace the shadowy sun starved casements
And pristine carpet stretches out above the grimy pavements,
Little luminous lanterns it sets atop the posts
And turns the topiary evergreens into silent stalking ghosts.
It dresses in cold ermine the lamenting leafless trees
The meadow it sweeps with pearly dunes drifting on the breeze.
For its farewell before it leaves it weaves crystal curtains on the eves.
It is EVERY waking Childs delight
Dark winters own celestial light.

Snow snow Olivia snow............................


J. Armstrong

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