Silent flakes drift down,
blanketing the world in white,
transforming the familiar.
Each flake a quiet promise,
softening edges,
dimming the noise of life.
Branches bow under the weight,
as the air holds its breath,
a stillness settles deep
and time slows to a whisper.
Footsteps crunch softly,
echoes in the crispness,
hearts warmed by the glow
of distant lights,
while dreams swirl in the cold,
wrapped in the magic of the season.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem