First Frost

The years first frost is in the air, its silver breath lies everywhere casts beauty over the mundane though death comes creeping in it's name The dark garden is fired with frost, burning summers memorials to the ground, a graveyard springboard. Relics lie spread over the soil, death with purpose in the night air. Soon to feed the cannibal seed grows from deep into new reap, capsules of the fresh green Spring, lifting joy on new year’s wing.