host of warriors camped about
peak, last night;
The waning moon betrayed them there,
could not see a face nor form,
The shadows were
But only sabre tips unsheathed,
the frowning sky.
thunder cannons loudly roared,
lanced like pain,
But staunch they stood, in serrous file;
I saw no
more for rain.
must have slipped away at dawn,
For all I see
Is just the hill-top crowned with pines,
The same as yesterday.
South Wind croons a lullaby,
Though hills are packed with snow,
The stately pines, like pachyderms
Are weaving to and fro.
bald-topped mountains, like old men
Are peering row on row,
To mayhap glimpse in yonder glade
The virgin ballet show.
ballet shiver at the touch
Of passing breath of frost,
An eagle screams from eyrie high,
As though the day were lost.
dancing sunlight, glinting through
Defeats grim winter's sting,
A bluejay calls to all the world,
"Oh Ho! At last it's spring!"