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.