Black Crayon

The winter's spirit and advancing maid
above the landscape fled before nightfall
her hand extended to regale ahead
a glass of red and her betrothal call.

The molecules of mist descended on
the surface of the pond where shadows welled
the lady's features made of black crayon
and glancing sacrosanct, my eyes beheld.

The shadows of the field surrounded me
her bridal veiling o'er my ghostly mast,
a standing versus the horizons tree,
diffused its branches fore the gray contrast.

G.V.