Monday, January 4, 2010
A hush falls on the frozen woods,
A silence, like the trees have paused
And left a million souls of flakes
Behind them, in a gleaming wake.
A velvet cast of white is laid;
Upon the snow, a foot betrays
Where creatures roam through glen and gloom
Amongst the twilight's silver loom.
Sweet notes rise through the trilling throat
Of Blackbird, haunted by the Stoat
That hunts among the stooping leaves
And creeps past swirling, icy streams.
When dawn has come again, the thorn
Is splintered with the rising morn
And brush, and bracket, bend again
To hushed white woods, and huddled wrens.