As dawn does stir the sleeping night <br />That gripped the woodland with its chill <br />Through faintest mist and frosted trees <br />The ghostly sun does rise, <br />That creeps above horizon dark <br />Where shadows seem to linger on <br />While branch and bough do reach unto <br />The pallid winter skies. <br /> <br />So still the air the gentle hush <br />As silver slowly yields to blue <br />Which clears the way for beams to shine <br />And frozen land to thaw, <br />The robin finds a lowly perch <br />And there forlornly casts his eyes <br />Then turns the twigs and lifts the leaves <br />Which lie upon the floor. <br /> <br />With amber fern now wilted which <br />Do line the winding wooded track <br />And bow their crowns which glisten in <br />The early morning light, <br />Upon the way a puddle lies <br />And iced within a shallow mould <br />All cracked and crazed too cold the morn <br />To free it from its plight. <br /> <br />I look towards the fallen oak <br />Which fell yet but a month ago <br />And there its mighty root exposed <br />To which the earth does cling, <br />And as it lies within its grave <br />Its leaves shall never turn to green <br />Nor shall it bear its fruit again <br />Or see the coming spring.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-dawn-does-stir-the-sleeping-night/
