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.