Moods
The snow sifts down on my wintry world
and covers all with white;
I see it through the window now,
unspotted, sparkling, bright.
No one has marred its pearly face
with tracks of brown and gray;
it saddens me to think that soon
someone may need to pass this way.
Pretty flower faces,
please come peeping through the snow.
show us your lovely graces,
your satins and your laces;
let old man winter know he has to go.
It is time he did his packing,
his ice and snow quit flashing;
it is time he left and let spring breezes blow.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
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