Shiver

In the heart of winter's embrace, Where the world wears a frosty lace, A shiver dances through the air, A whisper of cold beyond compare. The trees stand bare, their leaves long shed, Their branches etched in icy thread, A shiver courses through their veins, As Jack Frost weaves his crystalline chains. The sun, a pale and distant eye, Casting shadows long and shy, Its golden rays too weak to fight, The creeping chill of the advancing night. The ground, a canvas painted white, Crunching beneath the feeble light, A shiver wraps the earth in sleep, In its silent, frozen, tranquil deep. Beneath the moon's ethereal glow, The world lies still, in silent show, A shiver in the hushed expanse, A delicate, ethereal dance. The wind, a sculptor with a biting chisel, Carves out shapes in the frozen mistle, A shiver follows in its wake, A trembling breath the landscape quakes. In the quiet, hearts beat warm, Seeking solace from the storm, A shiver shared in close embrace, A moment's peace in a cold world's grace. So let the shiver come and go, For it is part of the ebb and flow, Of life's grand tapestry, woven tight, With threads of cold and slivers of light.