Winter’s Snow

Sometimes it comes in silence

Drifting slowly like single,

White feathers floating on air

That vanish to liquid

Upon touching ground.

Sometimes it comes in turbulence

Swirling in swarms

To create white walls

That blinds our view and

Builds to drifts that block our path.

Once settled, the world brightens

For in its whiteness it is unequaled,

Only surviving within the sharp,

Biting frost of winter air.

It’s only voice comes as a crunch

Beneath our boot-clad feet;

Yet it brings cries of joy from youthful play

As we slip and slide along its surface

And mold it amid our hands to shapes

Sparked within our enchanted dreams.



  1. January 13, 2013 at 7:06 am

    Very well said. Most of mine are turbulent, but sometimes I’m lucky enough for it drift line white feathers floating through the air.

  2. January 22, 2013 at 7:15 pm

    Beautiful poem! Thanks for sharing!

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