The Song of Snow

Poem by Perry Wyatt

I felt it on the tip of my nose, 
Heard it in the leaves crunching underfoot, 
Saw the smiling frost on the pine trees, 
No one had faith - but my ears were burning.  
 
Eyes tilted to the sky, 
A flake floats down the path, 
Tiptoeing to each pebble up the drive, 
The moon and I are lone watchers. 
 
The advent candle has blown cold, 
No noise besides the breath of sky, 
Then beneath the swell of wind,
The orchestra takes their instruments.