Winter morning with birds

Jane Dougherty Writes

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

800px-Blue_tit_(26525351038).jpg

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.

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