in the wake of Jack Frost

it’s a glittering, slushy mess out there
white winter sunlight melts snow mounds into endless puddles
and snowmen into shapeless piles
it glimmers across snow packed by hundreds of feet
and sparkles through ice covered branches-
even the frigid winds have stopped whistling-
but the quiet of this winter morning
is broken
by the drip drip drip
of dirty icicles