Meadowland and secluded valley,
Rural road or small town,
With the appearance of a gloomy cloud,
The white, fuzzy mass came tumbling down.
Settling on the barren woodland,
Swirling on the nearby walkway,
Drifting with a surging wind
Closing down the busy roadway.
Dressed in a symbol of purity,
And habited from the severe cold,
Snow is winter's treasure - trove,
Nature's prized gems to behold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem