There he stands, a heart-throb of Winter.
Our stiff limbed man, hugged by ginger mists,
voiceless in a tomb like silence.
He adores gentle whey-white snow
and swan-feathered flakes,
bathing in an Ocean of mistletoe.
Standing in water,
encased in a silver prison,
Winter watching as fire-flames crackle
from an apricot sunset.
Surrounded by a screen of iced dew,
His shadow, a lazy haze of crystal,
it’s shadow, a tangled whirl of crushed crimson,
which sheens like a blood-red sun.
His eyes, onyx,
a carnelian stone for his nose,
sleek-smooth Lakeland slate for his mouth.
Thoughts gleam, he wonders,
ponders on timeless sadness…
Hoping his Lady Freeze
will flash him a frosted kiss,
Her fragrance frankincense,
her halo iced silver,
her shadow pearled dew.
the snowman is brave, patiently
as white tongues slaver the Earth.
Blue Tits buff this mint tinctured being,
Swallows swerve and dip into moonstone sheets,
rummaging for mummified morsels.
Snowdrifts spin white tornadoes,
snowberries hang as saggy rag dolls,
carmine globes churn, patch blankets pink
as accents of myrrh smother whining winds.
His life-force withers,
lime-green tips will poke through
where Frosty once stood…But...
When Winter’s sky is widowed
and sheets of snow fall,
Zig-zagging here! There!
Elements of Nature sculpt
a fine new Master!
Mists of Angels milky churn,
his soul is born…
An explosion of birdsong
from snow-shrouded Cedars.
Winter’s celestial sphere hypnotic,
Earth, a Fairyland postcard,
as the Moon weeps her happiness.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.