The cold that warms my heart-this snow
in soft drifts, swans sleeping
reflects the moonlight. Feathers glow-
gifts in starlight keeping
me at watch, at least for now,
quiet winds stirring.
Bare branched trees on woodland’s brow
call to me assuring
of pond side rhyme, note by note
in song. There’s no mistaking.
My Winter muse begins to float.
A swan is now awakening.
