January Moon
Could walk the road
As plain as day …
Could even pen an ode
The old - fashioned way
One minute past midnight
Hill and dale, utterly still,
All shone a brilliant white
Around a biting chill …
Claw - like branches almost grab
From out the snow’s white crust,
Where even diamonds seem drab
Under boot could crack and bust
Donning but a coat of frost
Left footprints in the snows,
Made it impossible to be lost
As long as moonlight glows
Not playing well at seek and hide
She makes the night less scary,
Pristine was a countryside …
Below the moon in January.
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