I loved winter's first snow, when I was young
Come morning when all was white and snowfall done
Now old, I dread winter's first inaugural snow,
Iced wind blusters through where widows weep
and I would run, mouth opened wide, to try
and catch elusive icy feathers on my tongue
to taste those first ice kisses from November sky.
I felt so cheated when the million flakes I missed
would vanish as soon as they touched the ground
but withered grass and forsaken leaves they kissed
were soon blanketed beneath a snowy mound
they covered well, the dead and sleeping plants.
I would watch the sunbeams from the red faced sun
bounce off the crystal coverlet, in sparkling dance.
while watching through insulated window pane,
shivering as I see the crystal icicles grow,
forming an impartial hour-glass of Winter's reign
obscuring plots where refreshed sod lies browned.
My dearest friend lies hid beneath a whitened heap
that hushed snow flakes bless with silent sound?