Snowfall on Mountains

Snowflakes like feathers fall,
blooming lily clean
in the darkness
of passing night.
Melting the lingered warmth
from November skies.

Crags, worn by tears of time,
blackened by passing years,
are quick to huddle underneath
winter’s fast becoming white.

Frost new born
bites sharp teeth
into dying green
so sparsely grown
until autumn’s flesh
has withered on the vine.

Coat covers coat,
spires, mounds of snow
soon piled high,
so that  which
now lies  beneath,
by naked eye
can be scarcely known.

Undying winter
cruelly grips the land.
Holding tight with
mighty breath.

Eager to capture
all that dwells
within far seeing sight,
inside a cold greedy hand,
until all it knows
is buried deep
by its malicious death.


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