I trudged to the peak of the snowy hill.
The cold bit me turning me ill.
The mountain was like Swiss cheese,
with bites from the boots of the travelers' ease.

I trudged and trudged up that snowy hill,
the reason being, the view was beyond real.
I was cold and tired from the climb so far,
so I took a breath and looked back down.

The peak was nine-tenths closer now.
I decided to go up,
not down.
For the route to take was shorter.

The wind would swipe the travelers' praise,
but not the view the Earth displayed.
I slowed, thanks to the climate there,
Rubbed my eyes of the snowflakes so rare.

I heaved myself to the rail at the peak.
My jaw dropped, it was definitely worth a peek.
I don't allow to be fooled,
so I pinched myself hard.

I wasn't sure if it was true.
How could the snow be so perfect,
the rivers so smooth,
the roofs gleaming?

The trees seemed to be bathing,
the white shampoo slowly leaving the green hair.
But the travelers around me sighed in dismay.
They were late, they believed, for the Earth's great display.

Spring was coming, the transitions being seen.
The melting and heat had come this day.
They didn't see what I saw, the beauty of the trip,
the vigorous climb to see this art paid off.

Nature has paint, with each stroke precise
The Earth's display is a changing art.
The transitions, the perfection, the wrong , and the right,
Make up the beauty... of this dawn so bright.