Season of a Mistress

Mistress of a season's whim
The pale light of a morning hue
Begin this winters day
Quietly I step forth ahead and on
Into the eerie silence
My breath a vapour rises
To where a low sun shall climb
A coldness present
The wetness of dew
Almost frozen in time
A beauty is still found
In all that greets the eye and mind
Whilst the world succumbs once more
To the mistress of nature
To the mother of this earth
A season bows to her whim

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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