The first frost creeps in on stealthy toes, Wearing a crystal mask. A thief in the night, to whom no crevice is closed, With soul-numbing fingers to probe and caress, A gleaming dagger to bite deep beneath mortal flesh. Slowly, achingly, the first mask melts away, The paralyzing cloak of numbness falls to the grass Which in turn begins to awake, to stretch, to peek out to view The uncovered visage of the thaw. Under each softening tread, the earth-blood flows anew Through the waking earth. The figure pauses now in its tread, Only to sweep anew into a flurried dance. A new facade of light, of life, Obscures the features of old. A mantle of green encloses the strong shoulders, matching green underfoot arcing up to attain the sun's glory. Flickering, failing, the illumination fades Replaced by a time-worn mask Of gold and amber, blazing in the dying light. The dance slows, becomes sluggish, The mantle becoming a cloak once more Drawn about older, frailer shoulders As the green fades from the earth, and mortal shapes Huddle inside, to start the sleep once more, Waiting for the first frost.