Winter Magic
First frost
Writes fine lines
In the filigree of spider webs.
The air is like chalk.
Grass blades sparkle
For a fleeting hour
Until the sun
Leaps over the trees,
Laps up the fog and
Licks the lawn green.
12/29/2016
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment