Swirls of early winter dancing along the window panes,
Along in the icy wind that nips and bites our noses,
Small bright crystals in the sun,
And gentle lights in the night,
As they glide down from the sky,
Covering the dying life around with a white blanket,
So that they may be sheltered till we see them again,
Some can fall smooth and slow,
Like a single soft note,
Some can fall quickly,
Hiding all in its path within a mere minute,
Like a symphony of pure white,
And although such white may be cold to the touch,
It still may warm the hearts of others on one particular morning,
As they unwrap the boxes of red and green.
And such white may create,
Create men or wintry weapons,
But like many other things,
This such white cannot stay,
As the sun comes soon to drift it away,
Till we may see it again
