The Snow

Let me share this most precious gift of mine with you. I love the snow. I love the quiet muffled sounds it makes when tumbling down upon itself. And in a crisp clear evening when e'en the moon itself is bundled with a scarf I love to stand out in the snow and watch my breath ascend. I love the quiet of those nights; the solitary crunch of crusted snow with every step I take. I love the radiant moonlight setting all the field of snow aglow and I between the moon above and its reflection here below. I love to pack the snow into a ball or let it cushion playful fall; to skate while snow is falling still, for me, is such a happy thrill as well as sledding down a long, steep hill; I love the snow. I love the fact that it is white, it blinds by day and soothes by night; but, oh, to me, so great a sight; yes, I do love the snow. The faultless plain of pure, clean white just seems to turn the world aright and soften every mortal plight, this loving blanket, snow. Oh come and bring your cooling cause to still the anger, cover flaws. Rest on eyelids and on tongues; on pavements, parks, and ladders' rungs. Beneath we might be green or brown; we might be city, burg, or town; we might be valley, plain or hill but under snow, we're quiet, still. Yes, come and let your cooling sense repay hot temper recompense; and let your frigid blanket hold the fits of rage 'til they get cold. Thou liquid light in frozen white; Thou dust of Love sent from above, forgiving and forgetting all, embrace us whether great or small and let us always strive to be the picture of your purity.