Thousands of frost stars
Twinkle on every fallen leaf.
The sky is an aching blue.
Balsam intermingles with spruce.
Diamond dust paves the autumn path
With glinting winter magic:
Sparkles in each sunlit step.
In shade, the wildwood is quiet.
Cold frost rimes the fallen log.
Breath is visible, and runners steam.
One ray of weak sun is enough to
Blind, dazzling the senses.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 26, 2014

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

37 Comments

Secret Folk

Deep in the wildwood,
Beneath the green leaves,
Hide a welter of wee folk.
They play tricks, keep their secrets,
Hobnob with toads and kiss dragonflies.
Tuesdays, they take tea with an elderly dragon,
Nibbling hazelnut tarts and sunshine flan.