Winter Morning

Walking softly, ghosts of winter
swish past trees of rugged bark.
Sound remains preoccupied, smothered in snow.
Only pine needles fidget, whimpering green.
Spooky quiet, early morning still,
Oh, that frigid winter spirit!

My spine tingles, lurking chilly spirit
icy fingers tapping notes of winter
up my back, and yet all is still
like those brooding trees with dull bark.
Whispers flow from only remaining green
poking through mounds of snow.

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