A Window By the Woods

The little window that overlooks Those wild wooded acres beyond it Has now a flimsy layer of mist Upon its translucent glass panes And whiter seem the snow covered woods. Etching with soft fingers upon the glass Makes visible a bunch of wild roses Frosty dew-kissed redness nudging the walls Near the window sill in silent wonder Balming the icy-stillness of the morning air. Like a wreath placed upon the day Mourning the greenery which lies buried Under flaky piles of snow and hailstones Making mortals reminisce in pensiveness About the unspoilt beauty of nature. Bare boughs stand askance from a distance Of the grey skies and the falling snow Wanting to know if winter would stay long And when would spring knock upon its bark With the tweets of seasonal birds And gay squirrels would once again run its length. Nature remains quiet save for the sounds Of whispering winds and downing flakes Etching mystic symbols upon snowy ground Which buried fallen leaves try to decipher If they can nature’s cryptic messages. Perhaps they would tell the boughs someday After winter winds its way through the woods And the snowy acres of wilderness Embracing all with its frozen touch Makes way for springtime to thaw the ground. ***********