I look around, what do I spy
The naked limbs of barren trees
With leaves in piles about sky-high,
Leftover ice from last night’s freeze,
Snapshots of early morning find
Still crusted on the window’s ledge
A lacy pattern left behind
By remnants of the autumn sedge.
The winter has its own brigades
An army of invading knaves
Of frost and snow and ice cascades
That from the bitter cold here saves !
Claire V. Bogdanos 