Photograph manipulated by author
Jack Frost, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The early sun hides behind a white haze,
Of countless numbers of small downy flakes.
Pulling my chair to the window to gaze,
As often do for these winter’s day breaks.
His artwork never ceases to amaze.
Silver ferns of many varieties.
Each worthy to be in a priceless vase,
And he does it with such simplistic ease.
To see this sight, in your bed mustn’t linger,
As the sun becomes a big eraser.
Should not ever touch them with your finger,
Nor try to save in the ‘frigerator.
What would winter yield without our Jack Frost?
I for one, without his art would be lost.