Time for some strict syllabic poetry this morning. A cinquain sequence for Colleen’s challenge. Our first real frost and the last for a while I hope, is disappearing in a beautiful cloudless morning.
Photo©hedera.baltica
White the
winter meadow
furred stiff with frosted cold
that fell with the starlight in night’s
dark time.
Bright the
sun in cloudless
sky, sharp as ice shards, blue
as the powdered wings of blue tits
feasting.
Night cold,
fading faster
than melting ice, frost-fur
bathed in golden light where birds flit,
squabbling.
LIVING THE DREAM 
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