The sight of newfallen snow.
A bright white angel that shines.
Her slight halo in shadow.
The flurries, soft, on her face.
Aloft, doves fly, o’er her confines.
She oft flapped her arms of lace.
Mother’s intent, dampens joy-thrill.
Surrounded by scent of pines.
Her slow ascent ‘gainst her will.
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