An English Winter's Day

On those cold and frosty winter's mornings when the grass crunches beneath your feet,
and you're wrapped up in layers, hats and scarves, as is everyone else you meet

When each time you exhale a breath of steam quickly disappears into the chilled air,
and any part of you that is open or exposed is numbed and quickly covered, or beware

Often every outside surface is dusted with winter's cold makeup white,
and Jack Frost at your nose your ears and fingertips tries to take a bite.

Icicles form to look just like the teeth of some long since past prehistoric beast.
Winter's grip in some places on this our Earth holds on; we hope never ever to cease.

The winter sun is low in the sky and its weak rays have little warmth, if any.
God's creatures brave the cold in search of food, but really not that many.

Snug in their winter's long sleep, others see neither day nor night.
The world outside of which they knew now blanketed cold and white.

Eventually when the night draws in and there are no clouds and the sky is clear,
and the only light is from the moon, its silvery glow throughout the heavens appear.

The temperature drops until the very air you breathe chills your lungs with every gasp,
and even the tiniest sound seems to be magnified and its echo all around is cast.

And when the morning light again returns as the sun is again risen from its slumber,
the beauty of our treasured land we once more behold, with eyes of awe and wonder.