Mourning of ice
The world is a glaze
It shifts my haze
I wonder what I will see
What will it be?
This illusion of glass
this magical world
I can see my reflection
or is it a deflection?
It will all disappear before my eyes
this world of glass
shattering softly
in the morning light
When you get older the soft glaze is harder to see but you know it is there.
It's such a special time of day. Well captured, Jane.