The frost on speckled beams
Delights the morning,
Hurriedly raised into
The auburn sky,
Hindered only by the first
Dappled fret that
Slowly gathers undisturbed.

It lingers lightly,
Ricochetting on the gilded landscape
That comes to meet it.
Effortless and brilliant,
Scintillating and salient,
Without prejudice or suspicion
It leaps into a kaleidoscope
Of its own making.

The strokes of its gaze
Fire frigid rays of colours
That warm the sight.
But it is now morning;
The frost and the fret
Flutter and fleet with the wind
They daren’t fight,
And the morning
Bids farewell to its first light.

​

Christian-Frédéric Bloquert