The splendor of
Freshly fallen snow,
Can be compared not
To that of man’s creation
For creations of steel and sweat
Lack the life of a fresh fallen snow.

Snow, virgin snow,
Fallen from on high
Live briefly upon
The wind blown.

In the white abyss,
One finds that reflection
Of love, found and lost
Of victory, won and stolen
Of defeat, felt and taught
In that abyss of beauty,
The soul’s glow
Is lost truly.