Winter ( a poem)

 

The morning wakes in silver light,

Frost tracing patterns overnight.

The world is hushed, the air held tight,

As winter softly settles in.

Bare branches wear their coats of white,

Footprints stitch paths where robins flit.

Cold clouds drift low, but fires are lit,

And warmth grows bright in every home.

The wind hums through the quiet lane,

A song both lonely and serene.

The year exhales, the days turn clean,

And time feels slower in the cold.

Yet in this calm, a promise sleeps—

Of longer days and skies reborn.

For even in the frozen morn,

Spring waits beneath the snow.