They say this will be a wet winter.
The first snow is coating the trees,
tentatively packing down brush
but it's already sleeting, bound to wear off
winter's first serious attack.
The frosty Christmas ball of sky
is glowing from without, ready
to let the blue glitter through.
What's most wondrous are the mountains,
released from grey lined autumn dullness,
they’re bridal white, their majesties
crowned, awaiting extravagant praise
from the courtiers of winter.
The first snow is coating the trees,
tentatively packing down brush
but it's already sleeting, bound to wear off
winter's first serious attack.
The frosty Christmas ball of sky
is glowing from without, ready
to let the blue glitter through.
What's most wondrous are the mountains,
released from grey lined autumn dullness,
they’re bridal white, their majesties
crowned, awaiting extravagant praise
from the courtiers of winter.
Beautiful poem but, much as I love to see snow, I'm glad we haven't got any yet!
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