Like the soft downy preening of a Mourning Dove’s wings,
it falls in the night while the night bird sings.
So softly it falls, as seeking surprise,
that surprise is exactly the effect, when I rise.
So silent and peaceful the forest now seems.
Angels worked hard as we lay in our dreams.
Every flaw and each imperfection,
are now hidden by love for man’s introspection.
How soft and pristine the landscape appears,
showing mankind what he traded for tears.
Would we rather not know what should have been
if only we had listened and resisted first sin?
By noon, the white beauty will have melted away.
The cats and the mice will come out to play.
Some things are fleeting, some things last longer;
some things are given to make our faith stronger.
Whatever the reason and however it appears,
the snow is still wondrous after all of these years.
Such beauty never loses its mysterious appeal,
nor ceases to beckon, “Come touch, taste, and feel.”