Whisperings

After the autumn rains have past
I see them sigh
in the pitch velvet night, I crack a smile.

As they soundly sleep
I silently retrieve
this stolen warmth away.

Then with the dawn tumbling
down a vertigo blue sky,
ice rattled air marks an iron punch frost.

Awake they scuttle, shivering
breath blowing dragon clouds of vapour
racing to kindle fire.

The winter sun bows low submitting
to my bidding, hidden among bare branches
failing to pierce shadows of ivy and mistletoe.

Huddled they listen to the whisperings of snow,
the white queen is in ascendance now.

© Copyright 2016 Abigail Baker

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