For the dverse prompt. Rarely have I wrangled a more difficult form.
New Year snow
The green of winter fields has gone,
no gleams, no sun-bright beams
reflected
in muddy puddles, pewter wan,
this new year seems
neglected.
Only ice-breath from this sky
freezes trees below
winter-stark.
Beneath the flakes, I wonder why
the purity of snow’s so
ghastly dark.