Where dusk spilled gold and corn stood green and lean
Earth’s halls are cold, ensconced in silver sheen
The quiver from whence sultry dog days fell
Has stripped the fence of all but winter’s knell
As lanes where bare feet stirred its silky dust
Persuade a bitter-sweeter wanderlust
The harbinger of spring is gruff and brusque
He rushes through dawning to early dusk
His austere stance is grim, tormenting tress
He graces laud-less limb in glass caress
His kiss upon our cheeks is keen and harsh
Yet as he speaks his whisper stuns staid marsh
The zephyr-lilt of August afternoon
Must don a quilt to suffer winter’s tune
Surreal, the frozen field and aftermath
Of icy seal on daisy-dappled path
And we are awed anew within its hush
By what our God can do with His paint brush…
© Janet Martin
I felt as if I was crashing through a glass temple,
wondering anew at winter’s wonderland and worshiping without word the
Wonderful One who whispers white worlds into being!
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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!