Fine strings
of crystal beads
run streaming down
my window pane
in rivers of
sparkling stone.

the sky above
is silvery grey
and the snow
flows in wisps
of sheer tulle
and the wind
leaves dustings
of white glitter
in your hair
and rouges your cheeks
with her icy kiss.

Winter is a lady,
all glorious clad in white
who paces under
a fine lace of
frost-clad branches
and trails her
draping, snowy train
behind her.