SONNET #24 HOARE FROST

The mist rose off the frozen lake so still
Before the sun rose late to greet the day,
No breath of wind disturbed the scene
That met us, nought to send the frost away.
Each branch stood straight to greet the morn
With frosted bough and jewelled thread.
A diamond pine cone, a sparkling thorn,
Hedgerows glittering in the weak sun.
Brown dead leaves their veins silvered
By a painters delicate touch so finely done,
Everything touched by an unseen wand
To make the viewer gasp, to gaze in awe
At the pictures and varied patterns drawn
Around us, so give thanks that we are born.

Ann Margetson
Dec 10 1997 ©

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