The winter sun brings out the purity of the heaven-given snow,
Yet the ice cracks beneath my winter boots, falling low.
As if there's nothing compared to the warm heart and the fire within,
That's the thing about winter, the most loving and warm win.

A crystalline joy, showing the uniqueness of every snowflake,
Quiet poetry worms it way into my heart, as if calling to the spring flowers,
The air flows cold, and I'm afraid it'll catch a cold,
Not from the temperature outside, but from within it's soul.

Wintry trees poise as if ballet dancers- the epitome of sheer grace,
Strength showing how they stand still in seasonal gusts,
Now as the leaves are fallen, they are proud,
As if the silvery brown skin was the pride all along.

Now as the snow makes the streets a canvas for our dreams,
The cold, misty air engulfs me, as I try not to scream,
I run past trees with skin the hue of spring soil,
And the nature carves out wonders, with the blue of the sky.