Winter White (Poem 309)

Like piped icing, swirls

of snow edge all the eaves

in town, the trees, and each 

wrought iron fence. The swing 

sets sparkle now; the trails,

the slopes are fresh, the

very streets pristine; and

the sacred mountain, always

she wears winter

white, like swathes of sweet

angora brushed to a fizz 

of mist by gales, winds,

each breeze, belying the 

bone-deep freeze that sears 

within her hardened heart, 

where she wears winter

white, September, 

March, and May--no slave 

to fashion, she 

prefers the shade 

of innocence year-round. 

Meringue, whipped cream, 

the color of a prairie storm, 

a pristine pearl, a sun-soaked 

beach where warm, clear 

water kisses sand aglow 

under a brilliant moon--

so round, so full of midnight 

dreams, and she 

wears winter white.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six