The fog in the morning
entangled, like a veil,
between the branches of the garden
sparkling with frost
is frost, mild
sister snow.
It weaves embroidery
minutes, beads
white, on all branches,
grass, leaves,
is a white outline
to everything around.
Yesterday there was nothing:
in one night the vague
diligent work was done, a bit of 'August
Com 'is fast and happy
this embroidery.
* We have seen that in this poem there are many metaphors. Do you remember some?
* Want to try to build yourself a simple poem about frost?
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