Frost

In the quiet of the night, when all else is still,
Jack Frost comes a'calling, with a winter's chill.
With a touch so gentle, and a heart so cold,
He paints on the window, a story to be told.

Frost patterns dance in the morning's light,
A spectacle of beauty, from the depth of night.
They sparkle and shimmer, like a knight's chain mail,
Etched on the window pane, a frosty fairy tale.

Each pattern tells a story, of winter's icy kiss,
A moment frozen in time, in morning's bliss.
The sun may rise and the day grow old,
But the frost patterns remain, their stories bold.

So let us not forget, when we see the frost's art,
The magic of the winter, that Jack Frost imparts.
For each morning brings, a new design,
A testament to winter, beautifully divine.