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62 
Slowly and softly 
Like multitudes of 
Miniscule, downy feathers 
They softly fall. 
One by one they begin 
Their descent from Heaven 
Buoyed by the currents. 
Wafting thither and yon, slowly 
Descending like so many angels 
Come to break their 
Long silence and declare 
Themselves to all. 
Then, suddenly, as if a great 
Gate were flung open in the 
Heavens the flood begins and 
A great host is brought forth 
And they engulf all that is seen. 
Slowly at first, then faster 
And faster they come. 
Inexorably, and inevitably 
Enshrouding the greensward 
With their numbers. 
Eventually, the last of them, 
Having leapt from his abode, 
Leagues upon leagues 
From the firmament, 
It is done. 
Changed is the landscape now. 
Gone is the green grass, 
Gone is the daffodil. 
No longer is the meadow lark calling. 
Silenced is the song of the sparrow. 
Now, the only sound is of sweeping wind. 
Here to stay, for a time at least, 
Is the snow.

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62

  • 1. 62 Slowly and softly Like multitudes of Miniscule, downy feathers They softly fall. One by one they begin Their descent from Heaven Buoyed by the currents. Wafting thither and yon, slowly Descending like so many angels Come to break their Long silence and declare Themselves to all. Then, suddenly, as if a great Gate were flung open in the Heavens the flood begins and A great host is brought forth And they engulf all that is seen. Slowly at first, then faster And faster they come. Inexorably, and inevitably Enshrouding the greensward With their numbers. Eventually, the last of them, Having leapt from his abode, Leagues upon leagues From the firmament, It is done. Changed is the landscape now. Gone is the green grass, Gone is the daffodil. No longer is the meadow lark calling. Silenced is the song of the sparrow. Now, the only sound is of sweeping wind. Here to stay, for a time at least, Is the snow.