The Snow Is Gently Falling Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

The snow is gently falling
The air is cold as ice,
And the skies are of the deepest grey.
The trees stand bare
Within the woodland,
Their leaves have fallen long ago.
While the birds
That filled each day with joyful song
Have lost their voices.
But as I look out
Upon this bleak, November's morn,
I take comfort in the fact
That you must experience
The worst of the winter,
In order to appreciate
The best of the spring.


2011