Poetry Post

Cool Winter Morning
The trees stand tall.
While dancing in the wind, they hope not to fall.
The black fences are now white,
And they begin to fright.
That winter may not end,
But they think spring is right around the bend.

The frost frantically falls to the freezing ground.
All is quiet on the farm, we don't hear a sound.
The air is as cool as a popsicle,
There hangs an icicle.
Now comes the sun,
And we hope to have some fun.