The snow was falling gently,
falling all around,
bitter cold hung in the air,
as thick snow tumbled down.

The lake had frozen over,
the geese soon took their flight,
pine trees beribboned themselves
with heavy cloaks of white.

The robins that were nesting,
gave a final, melodious cry,
as they flew above the fields of flowers
that shriveled up to die.

The sun had not shone in months,
she refused to show her face,
but rose as a vague halo,
behind the trees of lace.

The sky became an artist's canvas,
painted with dappled grays,
casting gloom upon the shadows,
of never-ending days.

The deer were the creatures,
to feel the icy blow,
those without their instincts
lay frozen in the snow.

The woods were abandoned,
the ground so vast and bare,
how eerie and forlorn it looked,
without a presence there.

The wind blew so softly,
her cry an icy moan,
but there was nobody left to chill,
for she was all alone.

There were dreams of springtime
dreams of a warm tomorrow,
but that alone could not overcome,
winter's icy sorrow.