White Fire

Trees in sliver finery celebrate,
The soft footsteps of winter’s pale anthem,
Gracefully entwined on zephyr’s fate
Casts a lace veil of cold platinum.

How silent lies the sleeping meadows, green,
Restful hills draped in an enchanted cloak,
So summer’s threadbare cloth cannot be seen,
And tied with the Severn’s reflective rope.

Unfocused is the landscape’s blinded eyes;
Lonely in its seamless and dreamlike prayer,
Whispered words in faint vapours fall and rise,
A Blessing spread with virtue on the air.

Crystal flowers soothe a weary shire;
Fragile diamonds flicker like white fire.

Faint

Copyright RMC November 2017

 

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