A bitter frost had rimed the trees.
by ivor .e hogg
The grey slate roofs were painted white.
Each window pane a gallery,
displaying Jack Frost’s artistry.
To me a source of great delight,
each curlicue designed to please.
In patterns which reflected light
from street lamps and from passing cars
which brought them into high relief.
A beauty beyond all belief.
as coruscant as twinkling stars
besprinkled on the cloak of night.
It makes me sad to contemplate
those frost formed beauties cannot last.
It seems all beauty’s transient
and cannot be made permanent.
For passing time will overcast
all works of art however great.