Winter, and the last snow of the year,
Hard frost following.
Its glittering fingers weaving
Over the cherry tree,
Tickling the tight red buds
Which would not open
To the guile of winter
And the cold cold sunlight,
To the spiteful icy kisses
Of the killing frost,
Killing the promise
Of the cherry blossom.

Listen, Lovers.
When frost touches the heart,
It’s all over.

                © 2020 Gwen Grant           

5 thoughts on “THE KILLING FROST

  1. Fancy that, a fellow popping up out of nowhere and trying to rewrite other people’s pomes!
    It perfect as it is, just got me thinking.


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