Pale colours of raw winter’s young morning.
Overturned cloud whispers in clearest air
And underwings illuminate on wheeling gulls
As bland spirits freed from earth’s glazed pie
Sugar-dusted breakfast for the fresh-rubbed eye.
The dewpond sets its mirror to the sky’s cold face
Faint ripples here betraying iced wind’s breath
And in its shallow bank and in a brief hollow
The twitches of the whiskers of a timid creature
Seek to read the features of his charted world.
There, clothed in the warming, dampened leaf litter,
Pressed deep in the mold by someone’s careless shoe,
A fallen chestnut hopes its chance of burgeoning
Patiently, cells in its tiny strands of eager life
Prepare their roots for the changing of the season.