Still robed in purple skirts, the morning wraps
around the hills and moves from tree to tree.
Along the path, where thickets flash their caps
of green, small ducks reside. December’s plea
for snow will not be heard today. This peaceful scene
reflects an era of another time;
perhaps some noble woman, or a queen
has walked these grounds before. A distant chime
of bells is heard beyond the leafless elm
whose brittle branches rise like fragile prongs
to grasp December skies. This charming realm
remains untouched and, possibly, belongs
to fairy folk residing in the glen
whoâ€™ve finished singing autumn songs. But now
the winter chants those melodies again
in calming rhapsodies from every bough.
For another poem by Karen and her bio, go here.