Chilly distant sun,
its warmth too gentle,
to burn away the ghostly mist
which swirls like incense,
like unanswered prayer,
between the trees;
and smooths itself like a mantle
over steely river waters.
Or the frost which guilds the surprised grass
with the crunching sound of silver
and the chill
Soon the sun will ride the high sky,
and the mist will vanish like a hope,
and the frost like a memory,
and the winter’s day will descend
into ordinary loveliness.