Coating nature like a divine blanket,
chilled to the bone, can mask all our footsteps,
twos’ and four’s spread out vanishing far away,
the feathers cling on to anything, everything,
a steady fall defying time,
a milky awe in winters chime.
Only that fiery orange can make them fade,
yet in that cool blue night they sleep briskly,
igloos reflecting youthful splendor,
everywhere that pure white stays the same,
a seasonal tingle with a euphoric twist,
a lasting mingle of yesterdays’ kiss.
