Frosted Frescos
Mister Jack Frost stealthily visited me again last night.
When I awakened from my slumber I saw to my delight,
(Like sparkling bubbles in a fine effervescent champagne),
Splendid frescos that he had etched upon my windowpane!
No mortal artist could e'er portray, no matter his ingenuity,
The feathery touch of Mister Frost's brush with such acuity!
Sunbeams playing on my windowpane brought his work to life,
Accentuating wonderful geometric designs so very, very rife!
In my imagination I saw palm trees swaying in the breeze, and,
Waves rushing t'ward the shore, breaking on the golden strand.
I saw forests of trees, their branches reaching for the sky,
And a rippling stream with a rocky tor towering nearby.
Cathedrals flaunt gorgeous stained glass built by the masters' guild,
And by their handiwork, the teeming masses have been thrilled.
But Jack Frost's lovely handicraft that adorns my windowpane,
Outshines the work of mere artisans whose work seems so mundane!
Alas, Old Sol quickly melts away that fleet and mystic painting.
Only tiny rivulets of water like parting tears are now remaining.
Ah! But never mind, Jack will be back to delight me tomorrow morn,
With another of his magnificent vistas my windowpane to adorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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