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OLD JACK FROST.
Weary, late sleeps old Jack Frost,
Lain on his frozen bed.
Laggard....half the morning lost
Before he lifts his head.
The sun upon his labour's bent,
The worm-drawn sparrow's spright,
But old Jack Frost is still intent
On lengthening the night.
Without a stir, all unaware
That morning bids him rise,
Pillow spread with snow-white hair
And the vapour of his sighs.
Mid-morning ere with wakening yawn
He re-alerts his senses,
Tardily he greets the morn
Laughing o'er the fences.
Then, fleet and noiseless as he came,
His vacated couch he's fled.
Next morn will catch him, just the same,
Late-napping in his bed.
kiwi.
wandering through this world i see that beauty comes in many forms, your poetry being one of them. I love this poem, keep up the inspiring work.
I love this read. It's simpliest, but insightful. You use personification well and paint a vivid scene. I'm glad though I wasn't there when you had all those weather problems because I get cold easily and have problems warming back up.
this is so beautiful
Lovely imagery in this...and I can even picture Jack Frost laughing o'er the fences!
Well done Eunice. Very entertaining and evocative. Yes, I see the supposedly spry old fellow now leaping around. He enjoys decorating my windows these days. So inventive!
Great poem. I shall enjoy reading more of your poetry.
F. M. Salphire
Hi Eunice
I'm glad that there is another childrens' poet writing in these pages.
Loved the poem and so did my daughters.
More please
Peace
Rob Erskine