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.