The day has scarcely blossomed, when its glow
Is obscured from us, lost, as wilting bloom,
Midst curves of hillsides, draped in drifting snow,
Leaving only an opalescent gloom
Bleeding through the line between land and sky,
No longer day, but not yet fully night.
Mute snowflakes faintly glisten as they fly,
Reflecting the last of this sinking light,
Enchanting ribbons squalling through the grey
Should herald for us a silent warning
That a dark hunger soon will swallow day,
Leaving us with a long path to morning.
Instead we are mesmerised by the scene
Of the winter's fall, silent and serene.
This is my first ever sonnet - it's a bit like hard work!!!
.
