A second helping dipping

"The branches were dipped in frosting this morn"

and the sun cast a fairyland spell;

Each fragile twig looked feathered and white
and beckoned a heart to swell.

A winter treasure - a sight to behold -

while silence augmented the scene;

I wanted to walk through an open gate
to find the artist, supreme.

No gate could I see, the artist unseen,

awe captured my soul;

The canvas would change, as nature intended,

but I'd witnessed her morning's goal.

(By Joan Adams Burchell)


If this poem sounds familiar it's because I used it last year with a different series of frost pictures that I took at our old house. You can see them here.