It sweeps across the deeps of spring
And dross of autumn’s frill
It keeps the seed a cradled Thing
While winter wields its will
White, white its stillness of the night
White gold its cold, cold morn
White crystal noon, blue-white twilight
White broods on woods leaf-lorn
Each window is a picture frame
As heaven spills its stars
Where Masterpieces without name
Are ladled from cloud-jars
The Best and Worst of earth immersed
In perfect purity
The sweat of farmers reimbursed
With fireside luxury
…and home is sweeter, is
it not
Than in June’s green-spun tide
Where porch and kitchen-beacons dot
Earth’s spotless countryside
…as January’s jasmine spills
A sparkling-starlet sea
To rooftop-gardens, fields and hills
In wordless poetry
© Janet Martin
Recently the clouds keep dropping heap upon heap of these January 'blooms'...
My personal challenge was to write a January poem without using the word 'snow':)
