Winters Jewels

The dawn of day was witness to,
a transformation of the land.
The night had seen the change unfold,
unique creations of His Hand.

So many made, while slumber reigned,
no two alike, these crystals, white.
The billions softly touched the earth,
as breezes shaped them in the night.

The frozen-cotton, covered boughs,
as rays of sun climb winters hills.
To see the splendor made by frost,
on window panes and window sills.

The curvy mounds shaped 'round the trunks,
where blown about the feet of trees.
And leaves that peek through snowy white,
at wonderous winter scenes like these.

Their lives so short; a day or week,
or season at the very most.
To disappear when spring is nigh,
like figment of a vanished ghost.

But first they must adorn each twig,
and blade of grass and lowly weed.
Essential act required by some,
to germinate their precious seed.

And map the many tiny feet,
of creatures that have braved the night.
With fan-shaped swirls at end of tracks,
where birds of prey have taken flight.

To crown each post and stone and wall,
the royalty of winters scene.
Look down upon the snowscape, white,
approve each subjects bow and lean.

Then melt to slush and hang from twigs,
and drip and drop like tear-shaped jewels.
The tiny trickles congregate,
to create icy winter pools.

Returned to earth, from whence they came,
The same as you, the same as me.
Water to water, ". . . dust to dust",
perpetuates His Plan, you see.

~Nevin Hawlman~

AT WINDOW'S CALL.

Out my window I can see
Leaves are brown as they can be,
Though it's Wintertime for sure
Dressed in finest of decor.
All seem sure to take a bow
Dancing in the wind for now,
Leaves that once belonged to Fall
Dancing brown at Winter's call.
Each are patterned and with grace,
Some look like the finest lace,
Changing colors in a while,
Seasons in the latest style.
Dancing, blowing in the wind
Leaves designed " and all by Him"
God, our maker, up above
In His wisdom and His love.

~~By Katherine Smith Matheney.~~

SNOWY RIVER.

I remember as a child,
And even yet today,
The beauty and splendor,
Of a freshly fallen snow.

Walking through the forest,
And gazing down
Into the wintered valley below,
I was struck with awe.

A breathtaking beauty laid before my eyes.
No indiscriminately placed fluff,
But a covering fashioned by the Master,
Was enrapturing my senses.

Evergreen branches covered in white,
And dripping icicles
Reflecting the new day's sun,
Created a world of crystalline beauty.

Down in the valley,
I saw blanketed fields and rooftops,
And chimney smoke spiraling upward.
I felt peace and serenity before me,
As the magnificence of the view
Touched my heart.

The quiet and pristine picture
Brushed by the Master's hand,
Is more majestic and mighty
Than any man could ever make.

~~By Blue.~~

SNOWFLAKES.

Snowflakes spill from heaven's hand
Lovely and chaste like smooth white sand.
A veil of wonder laced in light
Falling Gently on a winters night.

Graceful beauty raining down
Giving magic to the lifeless ground.
Each snowflake like a falling star
Smiling beauty that's spun afar.

Till earth is dressed in a robe of white
Unspoken poem the hush of night.

~~By Linda A. Copp.~~

A WINTER'S DAY.

See the falling snowflakes
drifting by the pane,
Winging glasslike angels
falling just like rain.
The air is crisp and stirring,
the freshly fallen snow.
And the warmth I'm feeling inside,
sets my eyes aglow.
This winter's day has come before
and will come again.
It finds it's way to Earth
every now and then.

~~By Linda A. Copp.~~

MILLIONS OF SNOWFLAKES.

One little snowflake falls on my nose.
It makes me shiver from my head to my toes.
Two little snowflakes get in my eyes.
Blink! Blink! What a surprise!
Three little snowflakes melt on my tongue.
I eat them up. Yum! Yum! Yum!
Four little snowflakes tickle my chin.
I laugh. I jump. I run. I spin.
I stop, and I put out my hand.
Five little snowflakes softly land.
Snow on the house. Snow on the tree.
Snow on the ground. Snow on me!
Millions of snowflakes in my hair.
Snowflakes falling everywhere!

~~By Mary McKenna.~~

A SNOWFLAKE.

A snowflake falls out of the sky.
A piece of God's handicraft.
Lovely and chaste and full of His light.
It lingers like others
in one vast white sky.
Yet, stands separate, apart
with its own soul it flies.
Yes, it is one poem
in one page of time.
Yet, it be one piece
of His planned design.

~~By Linda A. Copp.~~

IN WINTER I'M ROUNDER.

In winter I'm rounder
and fatter than before.
I'm wearing coats and sweaters
and woolen hats galore.
My hands are as plump as kittens
when I'm wearing winter mittens.
My legs in thick, snug snow pants
look like an elephant's.
Indeed, I must confess
that when I do undress,
I feel as small and light
as a bird flown out of sight.

~~By Sandra Liatsos..~~

WINTER.

Going beyond warmed rooms,
through doors of sturdy oak,
to a world cloaked in white.

Natures snowy blanket surrounding all,
icicles glisten in the morning light,
suspended from ice glazed eaves.

Stepping down snow covered steps,
imprints left behind where you once stood,
as you walk, snow and ice crunching,
surrendering under the weight of your boots.

Hands reaching, pulling collars closer,
trying to capture the warmth,
your breath leaves a cloud of warmth,
only to be captured by winters' cold grasp.

Retrieving what you set out for,
you turn, only to retrace footsteps,
imprinted in white winter snow,
a path that leads you back up the steps,
to the warm heathen behind doors of sturdy oak.

~~By L. Roberts © March 1, 1994.~~

THE SNOW.

It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain,--
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil.

On stump and stack and stem,--
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrist of posts,
As ankles of a queen,--
Then still its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

~~By Emily Dickinson.~~

A PRAYER FOR A SNOWMAN.

My childhood snowman melted
And ran away somewhere;
Some offered words of comfort,
But me, I said a prayer.
that God would treat him kindly
In the land where snowmen go
When their life's work is finished
With children here below.

I'd loved him, oh, so dearly
For just a little while,
His heart was understanding,
I knew that by his smile.
His charcoal eyes were brilliant
As if he understood,
How much I needed friendship,
He'd stay if he just could.

The sunshine made him sparkle,
Then melted him away,
I thought I heard him whisper,
"Don't cry, we'll meet someday".
For many years I waited,
And now at last I see,
That God has made him perfect
In my childhood memory.

~~By June Masters Bacher.~~

GOOD MORNING ON THIS LATE WINTER DAY.

Good morning on this late winter day
When birds do sing, new boughs do sway
When the air is sweet with impending spring
On the wings of the seasons it does bring
The softness of your skin so smooth
The look in your soft eyes of blue
The gentle rain when it does fall
Reminds of your touch, light and small
Trace on my lips with your fingers stay
Good morning on this late winter day.

~~By © MichaelAngel.~~

WINTER HARVEST.

On the claws of my thornbush
three woollen twists mark the passage
of careless walkers.
I expect to see them all winter through,
fading slowly, matting in the rain,
returning to their flocked origin.
Next Spring, a bird, more careful,
will pass through the bush,
avoiding thorns, gathering these
fleecy fragments for a new nest.
Black thorns, freed of the winter harvest,
will protect white blossom, shield new leaf.

~~By Copyright 1998 John Bailey.~~
(permission given)

SNOWFLAKES.

They shine like silver butterflies
Drifting in the sun,
As though they fly on crystal wings
That winter cold has spun.
They catch and hold each soft sunbeam
And then, without a sound,
Turn into sparkling gossamer
Before they touch the ground.

~~By Sandra Liatsos.~~

WINTER WALK.

I like the days in winter
when paths are packed with snow
and feet make creaky footsteps
wherever footsteps go,
and
I like days in winter
when snow lies soft and deep
and footsteps go so quietly
you'd think they were asleep.

~~By Aileen Fisher.~~

WINTER.

Winter...
A cold yet cheerful season.
Snowflakes,
Children throwing snowballs,
Bundled up in scarves, gloves, and hats.
Infants screeching and yelling,
As they enjoy the first snowfall,
Of the year.
Winter...
A happy and pleasant time.

~~By Martha Schaleger, 1986 age 10.~~

Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloudfolds of her garment shaken,
Over the woodlands, brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

~~By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.~~

THE ANGEL OF DECEMBER.

THE ANGEL OF JANUARY.

THE ANGEL OF FEBRUARY.