Frosty Morn

In winters depth a coldness strikes
That freezes words upon the air
But no one hears the thoughts of mind
The rustling of leaves on frozen ground.
Dance crazily hand in hand
To imagined rhythms, an unheard beat.
Of a biting wind that stills the face
To red raw cracked and iced
To unclip and place upon the shelf
To warm for pleasant times.
When fingers in mittens don't huddle
And icing no longer frosts the last berry.
A solitary meal for a solitary bird
But the warmth of his roost provides a dream.
To drift away on a wing of sun rich breeze
To tropical climes and plenty.