A sprinkle of white,
Touched with slashes of yellow--
First snowy morning.
Shadows in the snow;
Brief meeting of black and white;
Fall plants are frosted.
Stream rocks are frosted,
But the stream rushes past,
Always racing on.
Now, there's history
Written in the tracks on snow
Showing past action.
Decked out for Christmas,
Fir tree stands sprinkled with snow.
Call Central Casting.
In the bright snow light
Bare trees seem even more bare;
Metal deer fence shines.
Belle is talented;
She barks with bone in her mouth,
Racing down to play.
Large rocks are softened
As snow touches their cracks
And covers their tops.
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