Off.

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