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The Beauty of Winter

I watch as the snowflakes fall

Falling, pure and small

I see them dance to songs unknown

Unknowing, they are, but not alone.

As white as a full moon

Purer than the sky at noon

Dancing to a timeless tune

Beginning at the start of June.

Nothing can be heard on a winter’s day

When all are inside, somewhere faraway

Silence, wearing a cloak dark and cold

Roams around, or so I’ve been told.

I hear the rustle of the trees

The last few leaves

Are on their knees

The wind whispers in the cool breeze.

The sweet scent of the dying trees

Fills the air with agony

And I smell the leaves of the evergreens

As they stand like soldiers, tall and pleased.

Those autumn trees are tender flowers

In their final hours

Losing all their power

Yet they will never cower.

I taste the snowflakes on my tongue

It’s early morning, the birds have sung

A silver mist surrounds this place

While a cruel wind slaps my face.

The bitter cool air

Of winter, so fair

The evergreens stare

Proud, without a care.

The Beauty

of Winter

Ciara Brennan