They come upon me in the morns

Of winter cold and tormented nights-

Crunch, crunch – the grasses crunch,

Brittle snap the twigs on branch,

Misty shadows loom around,

And foggy thoughts crowd and cloud.

Now, slumber’s veils are rent asunder

And lashes part and pupils wander

Out the frosted window glasses

Into garden hoar-frost and rimèd grasses.

Suddenly, o’er the horizon, ascends the sun;

The twigs and grasses soften;

Mists and fogs lift and melt away

And so my demons scatter away

In sunshine’s bright promise.