How do you line the limbs with silent frost

so cold it stops the steps of crocus shoots

who yearn for light. I feel within my dormant

soul a yawn—a wandering for wisdom warm

to break the bands of winter’s clutch, a subtle

movement toward the dawn. As coldness melts

and slides along the walls that fence my fears,

I pray this frost soaks far enough to fissure

frozen veins; that sap may run from root

to canopy and fatten fairer blooms, form

finer fruit to nourish passersby who

stop to stare in wonder at the silver limb.

p.s. sometimes in my technical inabilities I do funny things like accidently hit a trash button. 🙂 So the post is reposted. 🙂