A winter Scene
In winter’s hush, the world stands still,
A breath held soft beneath the chill,
Where moonlight paints the frozen ground,
And every snowflake whispers some sound.
The trees, like sentinels, are bare,
Their limbs reach out to touch the air,
Each branch a work of crystal art,
A symphony of quiet heart.
The winds, though sharp, are soft and light,
They carry stories through the night—
Of firesides, of days gone past,
Of fleeting moments meant to last.
Beneath the stars, the earth sleeps deep,
Wrapped in a quilt of snow to keep,
And though the cold may pierce the sky,
There’s warmth that lingers, drawing at night.
The cold will pass, and spring will break through.
