November Morning
by Evaleen Stein
by Evaleen Stein
Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
Are clasped in frozen light.
Upon the apple-branches
Upon the apple-branches
An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
In pearly patterns wrought.
The autumn sun, in wonder,
The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gayly peering through This silver-tissued network
Across the frosty blue.
The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
And crystal is the rose.
Around the eaves are fringes
Around the eaves are fringes
Of icicles that seem
To mock the summer rainbows
With many-colored gleam.
Along the walk, the pebbles
Along the walk, the pebbles
Are each a precious stone;
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost,
The clover jewel-sown.
Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle
Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle
Fills all the frosty air,
Oh, can it be that darkness
Is ever anywhere!
Quote:
Whining is anger thru a small opening. --Stuart Smalley
Blessings
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