With no wind blowing
It sifts gently down,
Enclosing my world in
A cool white down
A tenderness of snowing.
It falls and falls like sleep
Til wakeful eyes can close
As peace comes in and flows,
Snow-dreaming what I keep.
Silence assumes the air
And the five senses all
Are wafted on the fall
To somewhere magical
Beyond hope and despair.
There is nothing to do
But drift now, more or less
The silent, tender snow.
May Sarton