like a careless child in the drifts it stood

against the darkness of the wood,

even the path was not cut through

up to the door it led you to.

beauty untarnished, but never a sound

save for the whispering trees around.

its shining eyes on the cold world shone

warm and bright from its snowy comb.

cheer was the word the blue fume wrote

as it cleared itself from the chimney’s throat.

the drifts that lay on the tent like sheds

were like the covers of untouched beds.

a great white garment of snow and frost

was laid on the fence, but the hedge was lost.

a-while away the home garden park

divides itself from the woods soft dark.

dear god i said, you had meant to please

when giving man such gifts as these.