Hoarfrost © 08 Beryl Dyson

Come with me on a winter walk,
It’s December and the daylight's short,
An ice-blue sky. The morning bright,
Our world around looks crisp and white.

Fog and frost has made, with time,
Enchanting gems of crystal rime.
Shafts of sunlight, groups of shade,
Perfects a wonderland that nature made.

Glistening cobwebs drape the hedge,
Decorative, exquisite gossamer threads.
Dull red berries in icy claws,
Nature’s larder of hips and haws.

Autumn leaves beneath the bushes
Copped and turned for something luscious
By blackbird, thrush or tiny wren,
Skulking pheasant or clucking moorhen.

Patterns of movement along the mere,
Footprints of fox, rabbit and deer,
Twittering in alders groups of siskin
Search for food from cones and catkins.

We walk the bridge and into the sight,
Of mallard and geese off in fright,
Calling, calling from every quarter,
With unusual landings on icebound water.

Return to home, where firelight glows,
To warm chilled fingers, frozen toes,
To gaze with wonder once again,
At the sunset through the windowpane.

Hoar-frosted trees reflect rose pink,
Unique, unreal, as grey mists slink
Heralding darkness and the night.
Who knows? Tomorrow no frost in sight!