The Stolen Beauty of Winter

Where are the pure white fields of moonlit snow? Where did the green fir trees holding crystal white mounds go? Where are the perfect snowflakes that wisp slowly downward? What I see now in front of me can only be called absurd All I see is brown and gray slush, plaguing my entire sight For this winter I dream I would surely give my best of best of fights This stolen winter by the machines of these present modern times How I wish them to disappear at the drop of a single dime