Pondering whence the Sun will harmless lay,
Hurting, no more the beauty, I array.
Inkling to destroy two months away,
Little did he know.

Ice melts slower than snow,
Peaceful rivers begin to flow.
Indeed i speak the truth,

Letting biting cold do my will,
Out i look, upon many a blue hill.
Vines have ceased to entwine,
Entranced, frozen in frosty time.

Utterly desolate, purely divine.

softness flows over
rocks and rivulets, jettisoning
the clouding embraces of treetops,
holding the modulating fog on brushed canvases:
away, floating away, currents of love.

It was a lovely frosty morning
especially fine
for November