Art of Cimeries

Strings of light, which beckon to the call.
Shimmering and dancing. Giggling with each fall.
Scavenging and feeding on last night’s gloom.
Swiftly multiplying. Crawling through, weaving a loom.

Warmer than before. Easing the eyes.
Ready for the long rest, from this body of ice.



Poem By Sanjeev 'Cimeries' Retnasingam