Have you ever thought
That snow grows old?
It falls
Young, dancing, light,
Fresh, innocent, white,
Peering in windows,
Perched on the sills,
Off again, flown again,
Driven of wind at its will...
Blown here and there...
Frivolous, fair.
It falls
More and more
Serious, old,
More and more...
Hard and cold...
Flakes fall and stay,
Weep and dance not,
Pile higher and higher,
Howl and shriek in the gale...
A shaft of sun — a smile...
A cloud of rain — tears...
Softer, weak,
Unresisting, gray,
Kinder now, but very old,
Flows stiffly down the hill
And off to sea.
Have you ever thought
That snow grows old?
Jeanne Goodstein


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