art creative writing poetry



Winter ices fire
in this midnight garden
where you left
me waiting in the haze
of a bucolic frost

It etches crystals
and invades my brea-
-thing streams
(There’s cramping)
But it seems …

Winter’s glance is bare
She whispers every-
-where through
twisters in this maze
With promises sublime
she sends my sighs
on down the wire
and I hope they’ll
stay away

Frost | SB

Photo: My index finger on a frosted car window one very cold morning in January.


Life is short, so let’s be decent.

123 replies on “Frost”

Thank you so much. I am glad you enjoyed it. I hope you’re warm and cozy where you are. Have a great Tuesday if you’re just starting your day. xo


Thank you very much for noticing. The poem was written to a melody from Swan Lake, the Danse de Cygnes and in particular, this version by Bond, from the album Classified. I’ve embedded the video here from YouTube in case you would like to listen.

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