Winter Poem

Hoar Frost

Branches were dipped in frosting this morn

and the sun cast a fairyland spell;

Each fragile twig looked feathered and white

and beckoned a heart to  swell.

A winter treasure - a sight to behold -

while silence augmented the scene;

I wanted to talk through an open gate

to find the artist, supreme

No gate could I see, the artist unseen,

awe captured my soul;

The canvas would change, as nature intended,

but I'd witnessed her morning's goal.

-- by Joan Adams Burchell