Winter Glory proudly wears her cloak of white.
Her moods are varied, and always on a whim,
O’er the land she quietly journeys at night,
Her robe covering all she gently touches,
Her cloak a lovely surprise in morning light.
Days will come when impatiently she enhances
Everything with her large snowflakes like jewels.
Not giving up as she whirls and dances
All along her path, matters not where she falls,
Gently bestowing kisses, flirty glances.
Winter Glory loves parks with trees so bare,
Their lovely shapes and arms outstretched,
To receive her blessings and proudly share
The beauty of her robes, her dazzling jewels,
Glistening ground blanket shows she was there.
When the bitter north winds blow with fury,
The snows are released in relentless force.
The heavy falling snow makes the days blurry.
And the night’s angry howling winds compete
For dominance over Winter Glory.
Yet she always comes through a blizzard shining,
When the bitter harsh winds have blown their last,
Gentle falling snow creates that silver lining
Once more upon her beloved bare tree limbs,
Beautifying the park, pristine snow blinding.
© 2016 Phyllis Doyle Burns