Snow, falling thick and white, along the village street,
People struggling through the drifts, their shopping to complete,
Kids dragging sledges, excitement fills their minds,
Rolling a giant snowball, great, cos this is snow that binds.
Trees looking decorated up, with icicles that glint,
Branches weighed down with snow, which holds a golden tint,
That bright red sun that's setting, way out towards the west,
A wonderful rich vision, ordered at our Lord's behest.
Wonders of our lands, that are so stunning and so free,
That if we took the time to stare, we'd know true humility.
© Ernestine Northover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem