Morning

The stillness of a winter morning,
Awakens with cold and sharp clarity,
The night before brought such melancholy,
That lingers still in the frost like memory,
Its quiet ache suspended in the pale air,
While rooftops wear the silver breath of dawn,
And bare trees stand like solemn witnesses,
To thoughts left restless in the dark,
Now softened beneath a brittle light,
As silence gathers in the waking cold.