All imperfections slide away with snow.
It won't admit the differences they need.
Wherever snowdrifts in abundance grow
There there is calm. The land is freed
From its dependence on native terrain;
The dip no longer has to bow its head,
The marsh no longer bears its humble stain,
The burnt-out field no longer looks so dead.
While life retreats before the snow's approach,
The quiet contours on which life is based
Embrace the snow, and wear it as a broach,
Adornment for wherever it is placed
Until the spring replaces it with green
The snow. in blankness, keeps the ground serene.
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