Birches are bare silhouettes in the air

the frost is so cold that it burns

a spider web's gold in the sun’s pale glare

asleep until Summer returns.

Jackets of white that have formed in the night

the air is a shock to the lungs

the tinkling mock of the fresh stalactites

as sharp as a rapier’s tongue.

Cuddled up under a star-strewn wonder

the firelight glows flickering flames

and buried below, Summer’s blossoms in slumber

awaiting till Spring calls their names.

The leaves drifting soundlessly float to the ground

quite like boats on a to and fro sea

the multi-hued coat that is woven around

whispers “Winter is Coming” to me.                

 More of my NATURE POEMS