Forming together
As if in a curt whisper,
The gnarled shadows
Poke and ****
At the glimmering snow.

The moonlight
Politely beckoning the wind
To provide these shadows delight.

They giggle in the nip and tickle
Of the seemingly stagnant breeze,
But they bore of its humor
As the wind’s imposing air
Dissipates with growing unconfidence.

The snow’s silky silver sheen
Is shaded by the gnarled green.
The moon’s reflectant piercing light
Prevades this stagnantly silent night.