Jack Frost

Twas an early December morn.
I felt a presents upon getting out of bed.
A nipping frosty touch.
In tips of my fingers & my toes.

A mythical creature, I now remembered.
In winters a long time ago
That is to frost as Midas was to gold.
Jack frost has come to call.

Not that I ever saw Jack frost ever!
nor did i see him work.
He always worked at night
Creating patterns of pure delight.

Some said he tried to snatch me.
Visiting during the night.
Scratching and touching the window.
Weaving my breaths condensation.

Knitting my mist into crystals.
Called out of bed in the morn.
I would linger to stop & stare
Beautiful crystalline patterns

Made just for me.