Trees are frosted now;
A misty snow slants downward;
Quick! Before Spring comes.

The woods are white and still;
The bare branches etched with snow;
A bird calls somewhere.

A spectral whiteness
As misty snow coats the trees.
It patters: tick tick.

Two fir trees stand tall
Beneath them stone wall and earth.
There no snow will fall.

Like ghosts, trees appear;
Snow is turning into fog.
Is this just a dream?