A Window By The Woods

The little window that overlooks
Those wild wooded acres beyond it
Has now a flimsy layer of mist
Upon its translucent glass panes
And whiter seem the snow covered woods.

Etching with soft fingers upon the glass
Makes visible a bunch of wild roses
Frosty dew-kissed redness nudging the walls
Near the window sill in silent wonder
Balming the icy-stillness of the morning air.

Like a wreath placed upon the day
Mourning the greenery which lies buried
Under flaky piles of snow and hailstones
Making mortals reminisce in pensiveness
About the unspoilt beauty of nature.

Bare boughs stand askance from a distance
Of the grey skies and the falling snow
Wanting to know if winter would stay long
And when would spring knock upon its bark
With the tweets of seasonal birds
And gay squirrels would once again run its length.

Nature remains quiet save for the sounds
Of whispering winds and downing flakes
Etching mystic symbols upon snowy ground
Which buried fallen leaves try to decipher
If they can nature's cryptic messages.

Perhaps they would tell the boughs someday
After winter winds its way through the woods
And the snowy acres of wilderness
Embracing all with its frozen touch
Makes way for springtime to thaw the ground.
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by Amar Agarwala

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