The hoar frost encases every twig,
A cold aura shining.
The wild light from the low sun
Lifting the clouds,
Looking for lost secrets
Under their cushions.
The cold lurks in the hollows.
Colours are quiet, drab, modest,
Hiding their promise
Beneath their winter coats.
8:52 am, 20 April 2022
Inspired by the phrase “wild hollow hoarlight” in Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves
by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS
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