The world wakes now agleam.
Afor the frosted morn, the dawn
dropped its dew and leaping left,
a veil of beauty nor shine bereft.
The sunken branches, agape and yawning,
scratch and scrape the grass aglimmer.
The blades sunlit, those silver swells,
crest and break, in morning shiver.
The sky, as crystal ocean blue
as the youngest breath of Spring-
This cloudless curtain, alive and still,
covers calm the glass aglow.
Winter's grip, its proud and kingly clench,
timely grasped the deep of night.
I wide-eyed gaze, with the waking sun,
at what in darkness, was silent spun.
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