When I was a boy it snowed in December.
Now it still snows sometimes,
always after the holidays,
when everyone has given up hope.
It snowed today.
It keeps on snowing:
waves of whipped cream on the rooftops,
marshmallow fluff everywhere else,
snow hiding the shame of concrete,
snow covering dust, covering dirt,
snow on wood: trees, fences, logs,
wonderful to behold.
Snow laughing under your feet,
flirting with your eyelashes
snow tugging at your ears
reminding you you have a nose
snow blinding your eyes
keeping you outside.
Snow teaches warmth:
the warmth of tea and hot soup
the gratitude of having a home
she teaches kids sledges and old folk falls,
window-gazing, too,
from a comfortable room.
Snow is a virgin until she is not.
She is cold until she is warm,
smothering the earth,
so spring grass will seem greener
when it’s out.
Is snow really white,
really cold,
or only what happens during the rest of the year
makes her so?
boy with a hat 
Beautiful poem.
Beautiful poem
This is lovely poetry.
💙❄⛄
Dear poète, I love everything you say about the snow. So well said. Your writing is very visual, expressive and profound. A real pleasure to read your articles, your poetry. Thank you so much.
Wonderful!
Fabulous!
there’s nothing to not love about the snow. its even tasty with some flavored syrup on top
Have you actually done that? 🙂
When I was a kid I would get the biggest bowl in the house and scoop snow up, and use our leftover snow cone syrup from the summer to have a gigantic snow cone feast. Good stuff!!
During a recent delicate snowfall, I found myself walking with my tongue out (child-like) tasting the snowflakes as they fell…your beautiful poem reminded me of this and more!