Winter Whisper

The air is blue and keen and cold,

With snow the roads and fields are white.

But here the forest´s clothed with light

And in a shining sheath enrolled

Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass,

Seems clad miraculously with glass.

 

For in that solemn silence

Is heard the whisper of every sleeping thing:

"Look, look at me,

come wake me up for still there I´ll be".

 

(William Sharp)

 

 

2020 © Monika Müthing - All rights reserved

 

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