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.