Jack Frost


Corn stalks glistening
Row on row.
A killing frost,
So heavy,
It appeared as snow.

Frost covered pumpkins
Beyond the corn was seen.
Left in the field,
Unpicked,
From Halloween.

I saw morning glories,
Vines askew.
But not for a drop in Celsius,
This could have been,
Just dew.

A single Rose
Left unprotected I found.
Its blackened petals,
Strewn beneath,
On the ground.

But fleeting moments,
Past rising of the sun.
I stood in awe,
Surveying damage,
The frost had done.

My immediate attention,
Was not on things i'd lost.
But the warm morning sun,
Doing its thing,
To old Jack Frost.

lossmorningnatureseasonslyric

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