Slowly, slowly, snow drifts down, covering
forgotten flowers in cold beds of frost,
dark grass in thin veils, slowly smothering
iced window panes where the young children watch
wondering, marveling, dreaming of snow
castles and angels, ice daggers to hold.
Forgetting, perhaps, or too young to know
of bleak, barren landscapes, of wind so cold
young eyes fill with tears that freeze tiny cheeks.
I have not forgotten. I do not smile
from my ice window, but still the snow speaks
to the child within me, marveling while
slowly, slowly, the first snow of the year
falls silently like the first snow ever.