In the quiet dawn, ice weaves its song,
A tapestry of whispers, cold and long,
Beneath the pale, unyielding moon,
A frozen world in gentle swoon.

Crystals dance in the winter’s breath,
Silent echoes of life beneath,
Each flake a story, softly spun,
In the arms of the frost, all dreams begun.

Branches adorned with delicate lace,
Nature’s art, a fragile grace,
The world in slumber, wrapped in white,
A serene canvas in the stillness of night.

As morning light begins to rise,
The ice reveals its gleaming guise,
A transient beauty, destined to fade,
Yet in its wake, memories are made.