The frost is setting in

Followed by a chilly wind

Eyes turn up to the sky

Hoping to see the dancers fly

Spinning and turning in dresses of white

Each one falling feather-light

Each one different from the other

Never stopping just to hover

Falling down with innocent grace

They never fall just to race

They freeze like ice but are soft

A gentle wind gives them a toss

They are no bigger than a pebble of jade

The dancers who dress for a masquerade

They fall and float to my feet

Where their dance is complete