Winter
By Matilda B M
I walk through the soft snow.
As puffy as clouds.
The ice sharp sword of Winter cuts clean to the bone.
A little robin sits on an icy bare tree.
A bad-tempered breeze drags the brittle leaves from the branches to toss to the moon, with a swift shrill cry.
A baby fox cries for his mother in the dark night.
The bare icy trees sway in the white frozen grass.
The white pale moonlight shines on the frozen lakes.