All around me, white! Except for the night
And the ghoulish dark of trees, like spectres,
Swaying in the wind; silently!
No rustle, lush foliage long gone,
Sacrificed, in the fight for food over light,
When solstice heralded summers end.
And Druids blessed the spirits that dwell,
Deep in Natures wooded citadel.
Winter, now queen, sprinkles her jewels,
Hexagonal crystals, unique to themselves,
Swirl, silently, like starlings at dusk,
Before gently falling to kiss bough and land.
A ghostly cloak of ermine white, forming,
Contrasting to the dark of night.
Eerie, yet stunning! Warm, yet cold!
In this wooded grove from where I behold
©Phil Bottomley 2015