‘The gleaming white which seems to welcome
Every endless, longing morning.
Always it seems noon before the light
Has truly touched the top of that
So pale and glistening white snow.
There the falling frosted droplets
Covering our dry, holy earth.
Soaking through into the soil
Through the grass and through the roots,
Down into the burning core
The frosted, melting, fallen snow.
A thousand trees are all around us,
Clearing not save for the flowing
Ever rushing stream which summer
Heat had welcomed as a cool.
Here in the forest of winter snow,
Now my heart will yearn for warmth;
‘Recover from this bitter cold.
Send away the dark December,
Send away the winter nights,
Away the fold, away the frosty
Earthly crunching of the snow!’
I wonder what becomes of winter
When passed from us it goes?
Do they suffer it some southern
Unknown region far away?
Whatever happens to the snow?
Are there southern children somewhere
Playing in my crisp-white cold
Playground of a many winter
Night and day, the pass-time hold?
What is happening to my darling,
Dear and unforgotten snow?
How cruel it is to feel the bitter
Touch of winter on my hands.
How cruel I was unto my dear
Winter, ever sorry for my behaviour,
Not least of all to my beloved snow.
I love the coldness of the morning,
The feeling of the morning come.
I long to see the ground all frozen,
White the sheet outside my window,
And golden sun always shining
Off the darling winter snows.’ – Kester Rose.