Short Days of Winter Solstice

A still covers the ground with a frigid blast From the skies the snow does cast Shinny flickering frozen dew Blanketing the trees with a silvery hue All is in a hush But the wind does brush The last surviving brown trims of grass As thou they were holding on for dear life Cutting through them like a knife And the land shall sleep Deep, through the night Until the morning light Morning shadows create shapes That last for hours, then escapes The sun shifts without delay Bringing us to the end of the day