Frost at Dawn

Sometimes I just spill out a bunch of poems, take a hiatus for three months and spill out more. Here's another (work in progress, mind you; I'm really tired and my thoughts aren't altogether cohesive this morning).

I borrowed the title from Coleridge's Frost at Midnight. I am a big fan of the Romantic poets.

Spiny winter frost, sparkling on the sunlit boughs,
Sprinkling the earth at a gust of wind with diamond flecks
That twinkle at a glance like a ring on a maiden's finger.
The shadow of my breath on the snow - and aye, my breath has a shadow this time of year -
Blue and dark in the morning's frail light.
A haze hangs in the air, and the river's breath has a shadow too
As steam rises from the still half-frozen waters.
Ignore the cars, they have no place here among this sugar-coated paradise
That is candy for the eyes and candy for the mind.
The foul exhaust spewing from those crude, ugly machines
Is a frail mockery of the gentle air whispered into the morning sun from the river,
Lifeless and unmoving, hanging in the day like clouds over a mountain.