Silent skies spin silvered dreams,
Unbidden memories split silver seams;
Silver hair crowns ancient head,
Knowledge the treasure, and silver the thread.
Just enough raindrops to plant your hope deep,
Just enough losses to learn what to keep;
Just enough chaos to drive you to prayer,
Just enough failure to need Jesus there;
Just enough courage to hold your head high,
Just enough valleys to covet the sky;
Just enough sunshine to process the pain,
Just enough dying to rise up again.
Winter’s brush, with frozen bristles
Decorates the thorns and thistles -
Weaves her words to paint a spell
That beautifies the weeds as well
As ever Solomon was dressed
In kingly robes and royal crest;
Her art, expressed in silver tones,
Becomes the flesh to drape bare bones,
Makes beautiful the cold mundane,
Declares the glory of her reign.
I, who humbly view her show,
Am lured, enraptured by the snow.