The Embrace of Cold

Cold seeps in like whispered breath, A silent touch of winter’s death, It wraps the world in icy shrouds, Beneath the sky of steely clouds. Frost etches glass with crystal art, Delicate lacework, nature’s heart, Each frozen shard a fragile gleam, A silver thread in winter’s dream. The air is sharp, a biting sting, That makes the cheeks and fingers sing, Breath billows out in ghostly streams, Like fleeting whispers, frozen dreams. Trees stand bare, their branches stark, Outlined against the twilight dark, While snowflakes drift in silent dance, A cold, enchanting, fleeting trance. Cold is stillness, cold is deep, A quiet hush that bids to sleep, Yet in its chill, there’s life concealed, A secret pulse beneath the field. So, though the cold may bite and chill, It holds a beauty, calm, and still, A world transformed in frost’s embrace— Cold’s quiet, crystal, tender rose