Lichen dusted bows stoop down to brave the wash;
Infused with mossy rootlets of Larch and Birch and Ash.
The chill of dawn is sharpened and icy light drawn down,
Beneath the glistening Ivy, and Holly’s jagged crown.
The Dipper bobs, alert and bright; then dives below the hue
To re-appear amongst the foam and splash the frosty dew.
The Wren and Dunnock disappear ‘mongst broken limbs and leaves
As silver strands reveal a trace of life beneath the eaves.
Breathe in the air and feel the kiss of winter on your face.
A sudden sight, a tortured light that strives to find its place.
With every dawn we sleep beyond, we fail to comprehend;
That winter, swathed in majesty, is really our true friend.