She awakens at the crack of dawn
Her frosted, pale and shimmering nightgown
melting languidly to the frozen floor.
She reaches one arm up
stretching, reaching toward the sunrise
the other hand tucked behind her head,
A mangled, tangled mess of knotted hair
quivering as she unfolds herself from dreamy, wintery sleep.
She graces her barish frame
with a dressing gown of misty green,
beset with winks of saffron and pearl.
She tames her wild, amber waves of hair
and sets the rouge upon her lips.
She mists herself with earth and florals
and garlands her neck in springly dews,
then turns her countenance toward her work.
Now dons she her day dress,
that veritable variation of variety;
colors, textures, patterns, chaos.
Her tool belt fastened snuggly about her waist,
She sets to fruit, to flower, to feast,
to tend her offspring in due time.
Her summery skirts a lamination of cream and wine,
sapphires and lavenders, even to deepest plums.
Then comes the time to strip herself bare.
But naked? Oh! Oh no, not she.
She bears a woolly, copper cardigan
brindled in big, brown, bulbous bobbles
to keep herself warm as she finishes her work
Her autumnal locks escape to dance upon the breeze
and as the day melts into sunset
she hangs her hat and washes her face.
She takes once more her snowy nightgown
And drifts again into silent, shivery sleep.
G&P,
SF
9/11/2016
