Dawn is in the snow, pinking the fells.
A
tentative sun-god will seduce the morn
by
gentle means, not command.
Tenderness
is a medium for saying love.
When
clouds roll in we turn to it
as
salvation from the cold.
Dawn
sees the jeopardy of this,
a
grey that blankets all its charms
and
cuckolds, offering nightwithinday.
Then
begins the cool hypnosis,
the
undead flurry, in which cruel things
are
abroad, blizzardcharmers
offering
rest to stranded souls,
nightmares
on the fells.
No comments:
Post a Comment