Unfrozen
The sun is a candle,
above the frozen wood,
frost becomes breath,
leaves crackle white.
This place is soul deep,
a still cleansing,
that cannot last,
as light creeps higher.
The world drips in,
trees begin to melt,
behind a row of pine,
a rowan bleeds.
Derek Ross

Beautifully penned and great photo My Friend.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This poem is exquiste!! It’s a bright spot in my day.
LikeLiked by 1 person