Jack Frost’s paint brush


Sunset in the Arkansas River Valley

glowing with the colors of dawn
the leaves have swallowed
the golden autumn sun
the southern lights are dimmed
a blanket of sleeping foliage
announces each step taken
across the month toward
a silently laid beard of winter
the old man of the north
purses lips and whistles
calling the icy hoar hounds
from the hall of the mountain king
to scourge the countryside
with the paint brush of jack frost

© 2010, Donald Harbour


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