just a little something about Ice...
Each silver thread shaping itself.
The great Oaks standing host to there sparkling guests.
Guest changing shape with time.
Bitter winds, and drops of rain, are mixed with sleet.
They keep the guests alive.
Soon the sun begins to warm the great old Oaks.
And it's guests trickle to the ground, heavy, too heavy.
The beauty of the the ice filled silver threads, gone for now.
Only to return another day...
Poetry by Victoria Pearson
Read 689 times
Written on 2006-06-09 at 02:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Ice.
Ice hanging from the limbs of the great Oak trees.Each silver thread shaping itself.
The great Oaks standing host to there sparkling guests.
Guest changing shape with time.
Bitter winds, and drops of rain, are mixed with sleet.
They keep the guests alive.
Soon the sun begins to warm the great old Oaks.
And it's guests trickle to the ground, heavy, too heavy.
The beauty of the the ice filled silver threads, gone for now.
Only to return another day...
Poetry by Victoria Pearson
Read 689 times
Written on 2006-06-09 at 02:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Zoya Zaidi |
