The lane-way and the highway and the trail to wood and dale
The evergreen and cottage scene and silver-scripted vale
Portray the winsome long ago; of younger fields and fells
And almost we can hear the one-horse-sleigh and jingle bells
The blue of dusk descends at dawn tinting hill-scape and
yard
Where ambiance of Christmas-past nurture’s nature’s post
card
Of white-capped hush and fleece-wrapped bush; of
frost-frothed fallow-sea
How tender-soft the Artist brushes gilded reverie
Grand isles of May and merger of green-gold slumber beneath
A sweeping surge of diamond-splurge, holly and Christmas
wreath
Out where the summer-garden courted laughing, lounging hours
Its single boast is sported in boreal, snow-flake flowers
The modern girth of tortured earth is tucked in solitude
As winter spills its merry mirth in childhood vim renewed
And glad lad hails the sweet regale where heaven’s
chattering
Covers the floor of mead and moor with down of angel wing
The bronze of autumn-languor spills its final crinkled
fronds
Save for the long-stemmed teasel or the cattail curtailed
ponds
And where the coveted romance of youth and spring entice
A keener beauty spins its gossamer of snow and ice
We probe the dying ember; set the polished pot to boil
A morning in December soothes the tedium of toil
With ginger tea in hand we gaze across earth’s frozen swells
Where almost we can hear the one-horse-sleigh and
jingle-bells
© Janet Martin
The lane-way and the highway and the trail to wood and dale
The evergreen and cottage scene and silver-scripted vale
Portray the winsome long ago; of younger fields and fells
And almost we can hear the one-horse-sleigh and jingle bells
The blue of dusk descends at dawn tinting hill-scape and
yard
Where ambiance of Christmas-past nurture’s nature’s post
card
Of white-capped hush and fleece-wrapped bush; of
frost-frothed fallow-sea
How tender-soft the Artist brushes gilded reverie
Grand isles of May and merger of green-gold slumber beneath
A sweeping surge of diamond-splurge, holly and Christmas
wreath
Out where the summer-garden courted laughing, lounging hours
Its single boast is sported in boreal, snow-flake flowers
The modern girth of tortured earth is tucked in solitude
As winter spills its merry mirth in childhood vim renewed
And glad lad hails the sweet regale where heaven’s
chattering
Covers the floor of mead and moor with down of angel wing
The bronze of autumn-languor spills its final crinkled fronds
Save for the long-stemmed teasel or the cattail curtailed
ponds
And where the coveted romance of youth and spring entice
A keener beauty spins its gossamer of snow and ice
We probe the dying ember; set the polished pot to boil
A morning in December soothes the tedium of toil
With ginger tea in hand we gaze across earth’s frozen swells
Where almost we can hear the one-horse-sleigh and
jingle-bells
© Janet Martin
- See more at: http://anotherporch.blogspot.ca/search/label/winter%20poem#sthash.60G4ZHoy.dpuf
