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.