Frosted Panes
Night's breath has coalesced
upon the window pane
etched a landscape all in white
with forest, trees, and lanes.
Frosted panes, once so plain,
now graced by nighttime's sighs
lift lacy limbs toward white capped hills
below a pristine sky.
Comes the sun, the night's undone
and I can almost cry,
as night's trace is fast erased
from my weary eyes.
Day time yawns, with the dawn
as surely you've surmised
most of nighttime's beauty will
not linger once baptized.
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