It lay upon the crunchy winter sod,
It reaches far and wide ‘top wooden slats,
(a foot bridge o’er the icy cygnet pond),
And spreads its shivers ‘cross the barnyard grass.
The night before, while stoking coals in hearth,
Awaiting Father Winter’s bedtime tuck,
Sensing hint of droplets through the dark,
Just as the evening’s church bell chime had struck.
At morn be-robed and trotting to my pane,
To slide aside the drapes, enhance my view,
Perceived mine eyes the spinning weathervane
atop the barn, nor’easter winds did blew.
A silent, pure white cloak across the land,
This snowy morning’s peace, serene and grand.