MORNING
The hoar frost on the tall trees turned from silver to gold,
As winter’s lazy sun lit the world with new beauty to behold,
Ice cold mists of morning sent magic colours to our view,
As the sun started her short journey across a sky of blue.
The cold air crackled, the only sound that could be heard,
But hark! I can hear the cheeping of some hungry bird.
Now the sun is higher starting her short arc across the sky,
Although she is big and bright, no warm heat does lie
In the winter sunbeams, those sun shafts are still cold,
Yet it changes diamond crusted snow into lakes of gold.

M Ann Margetson December 22, 2001
2001/1741/morning/nature