the days will grow longer

the trees wore white like brides
of the hoarfrost, standing
tall under the veil of the pale
cloud-intoned sky.
not only the pines, birches
and maples, and lindens, and
aspens, even the spruces
had dressed their hands
in white spikes to pierce
the shorter days of the year.

an unobtrusive sun
peeked over the treeline
and hung on there for fun
and a breath of fine air.

the days will grow longer
from now on, braced
by the incorrigible sun
as the earth turns the other cheek.
the shadows will darken,
cast through the mists that envelop
the snow recently fallen
to better the grass,
a soft blanket
for when they need peace.

the trees entered hoarfrost
like upright bridges into the mist
filling the white valleys,
growing longer in days.

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