A revised version of last night’s rubaiyat for the dverse prompt. This one is in strict iambic pentametre rather than my usual rambling tetrametre. The second stanza inverts the stress for variety.
The frost that lingers furs the hedge where bird sings
At raindrops, snowflakes, all that winter cold brings;
His song, his soul fills our dark days with sunlight,
His heart too full too hear how distant bell rings.
Cold cracks the stone that gleams in moon-pale light,
Stills placid water with ice, silver bright;
The thrush is silent as mice in the hedge,
Hopes in the spring and bitter winter’s flight.