Lakeland dawns in February, the icing on the Kendal mint cake

We welcome in, the burning cold of dawn.
with tablecloth of lace, sans permanence.
This brittle bridal blanket, o’er the lawn,
though unexpected, cannot cause offence.

Else-wise, why did the spider spin that web
which stands out like the strings upon a harp?
Till sunlight flow and frosty tide will ebb
Till then, each breath’s intake is biting sharp

No cloud, nor breeze to break this magic spell
As Black Cwm, capped and aproned, seems to smile
In smugness of a job she deems, done well
surveys her Lakeland’s many silver miles.

More focussed through the crisp air, views are lighter
I wake to dawns like these, and all is brighter.