Creeping silent freezing mist

Coats the grass with crystals strewn,

Then drifts along the shining river

In the icy light of a bright white moon.

The ghostly call of an unseen fox

Seeking a mate on the snowclad fell,

Is heard twice more, then fades with distance

Like the last peeled toll of the church yard bell. Brown, brittle, see through hedgerows

Bent low by clumps of clinkered frost,

Now offer no protection

Her outer armour lost.

There is no sign of movement

Nor is there hint of life,

The very heart of nature

Cut deep by Winters scythe.

The forest tall and empty

Leaves stripped bare by the east winds blow,

Waits patiently for Springs warm breath to awaken

The sleeping seeds below. John Eccles, Junction Road, Bolton

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.