Crystal fragments fall from slate grey skies,

Kissing frozen earth as the north wind sighs.

Bony branches reach from the swirling mist  

That cloaks the woods in silvered amethyst.

Sheltered under scarves of frosted lace,  

The old oak stands in solitary grace.

Bare limbs outstretched in silent appeals,  

To call forth the warmth that winter conceals.

Through whirling snow drifts a hushed refrain,  

That only dreaming ears can retain.  

The woodland spirits whisper promised renewal, 

Beyond this spectral place, the wonder cruel.  

As diamond flakes erase lines of care,  

The way grows dim, the destination bare.  

But faith remains as the pale dawn stirs,  

Conjuring sunlight from ice-bound firs.

Through frozen breath, secrets now unfold, 

Of alchemy, turning silver and ivory into gold.  

As morning breaks, the frosty magic fades,   

The forest thaws through crystalline glades.

© 2024 Peter Noah Thomas