Falling snow is having its way,
giving its rendition to this day,
repossesing landscapes bare,
brushing tiny stars into the air.
From antiquity this bright white light
has draped many a long winter's night,
and once the angels even rose
above a babe in sweet repose.
So as a freshness covers the ground
listen intently for a muted sound
within the crystals dropped from on high,
wings flutter soft as a baby's sigh.
© 2006 Pamela A. MacBean
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