Oh, I've dreamt of the crystalline morn
where the tinkle of ice melts, as the day's born.
In my sleep I've seen the lilac boughs dipped
in ice like egg white upon each buds tip.
Panes of glass with frost with doilies adorned
each melt in the sun, their passing is mourned.
As I rise, I see my dream's come to pass...
I stare from beneath down out through the glass.
Such is the magic of Winter's white days
when all of nature is a frosted bright glaze.