The forest December a magical time

Out and about this morning
I saw
white frosted webs that all spiders adore
the cleansing frost
that caresses their form
depicting and framing
the art, they perform
the trees had been lost in the
curtain of night
they edged into day and now into the light
silhouetted by street lamps
golden they drew
this picture this morning
in frost frozen dew

wizards had no doubt been up early too
for mushrooms and toadstools
had fought with the dew
and the litter of leaves
encrusted by frost
and had pushed their heads through
and old Jack Frost had lost
some, as white as the snow, some as pink
as the sky, some as red as the sun
like that flag waving high
on a pole of St George once
in Genoese seas
safeguarding our navy
from our enemies
Ashridge the forest where
Deers and Hares leap
where the Moon Goddess dances
and tiny toads creep
there have never been snakes
of the poisonous kind
only sweet tender souls
the best you can find
there’s a halo of salmon
now up in the sky
drenched in grey then in blue
like a great frosted pie
stiffened by frost the plants
of the field
stand motionless really
for they never yield
to Jack and his band of
frost angels who paint
their freezing cold gloss
No Jack is no saint
he freezes the pipes
he cracks earthenware
but kills off the bugs
all trying to share
their worst kind of ailment
they’re stopped in their tracks
most finish up dead
flat out on their backs
the goddess is up at the crack
of most Dawns
she walks with the stags
and she plays with the fawns
she glides through the forest
where no one can hear
collecting her berries
and mushrooms, its clear
her potions are fresh
and her spells are the same
earth magic her calling
though maketh no claim
I have every faith in all that she does
for she works with the stars
close to her, there’s a buzz
of sound, and of light and the hum of the bee
of the nectar still sweet
from the old almond tree
My Goddess creates so much
beauty and grace
and its there always there
when I look at her face