So soft and stealthy from the dark of night
Is barely more than naught, but none-the-less
Turns every sullen surface into light
And puts the passing autumn out of sight.
And once again, the pond is covered white
Where days ago cat’s-paws and ripples played.
The farther shore has disappeared outright.
Just yesterday, it clear reflections made.
Old Winter’s come, lest autumn overstayed.
Snow-filled, the crystal atmosphere alights
On every crumpled leaf and withered blade
Which Spring had warmed to life, and Summer heights
Enticed to outward show and escapade.
In Winter’s welcome soulfulness, is laid.