Winter Morning
by David Ello
Winter's magic, some call tragic,
caught my breath this morning.
Sugar-crested, trees stand rested
underneath their blankets white.
Speckled, golden leaves lay hanging,
candied jewels in sweet suspension.
Were my eyes to write their sight,
days like this they'd more than mention.
But what my vision can't describe,
my heart instead will self-inscribe.
Winter wondered while I slumbered...
Woke me up this morning.
