October Frost

No snowflakes fell upon the ground
They still engulfed the sky,
And skirt the mountains all around
With onyx-coated dye

That clothed the wisping trails of Mist,
That clung the sleeping grass;
With gentle, threading lines, her fist
Crept to the cottage glass.

She glanced within to see the boy
Asleep by fire’s blaze,
Surrounded with his every toy,
And dreams of summer days.

And then, so jealous, did She deign
A pattern with her hands
That snaked its way along the pane
As firm as marching bands;

So when the boy did rise awake
With wriggling of his toes,
He saw the outdoors as a lake
That, while he slept, had froze

And that the Sun begun to bake
The moment that He rose.