The morning light is everywhere.
The soft frost
Is new
And the grass
Is crunching under my cold bare feet.
The trees; naked
Seem to walk
Leaving their shadows
Across the meadows.
I chase them
Across a little burn
Of running water.
©Jack Aylward
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
The morning light is everywhere.
The soft frost
Is new
And the grass
Is crunching under my cold bare feet.
The trees; naked
Seem to walk
Leaving their shadows
Across the meadows.
I chase them
Across a little burn
Of running water.
©Jack Aylward
I wrote this after my morning walk. Burn is a Scottish word for river or stream.
Request permission to use this poem