In November she descends
Holds the world in icy hands
Turns the waters to cold glass
As glittering snow falls thick and fast.

Her soft breath stirs the downy flakes
Which shift as she redecorates,
Using a palette of icy frost
To sketch, on glass, lines crissed and crossed.

She comes and for a while she stays
But underneath her icy charade
Spring and summer lie in wait
For the time to rise and wake

For just underneath her rule of rime,
The green and the living bide their time.
The ice façade will not remain,
Vernal life will return again.