Tree art by Stephen King
On My Morning Walk I Think of Frost
I walk out to see the sun come up,
but wind is howling cold.
I turn back toward home and find
the orange moon instead.
The foothills burn, the moon is full
and risen, overhead.
The other coast is under siege
of pounding snow and ice.Fire and ice, ice and fire.
I'm loathe to say much more
of fear, of loss, and of desire.
It's all been said, or sung, before.
