The sun sits high in the saffron sky.
While blankets of vanilla surround the homes,
Like bees; collecting honey from their combs.
'Tis not the season of sandy beaches and apple pie.
A hand graces the surface of this mystical entity.
Cold breaks the feeling of my hand,
As it slowly melts and turns to water to expand.
There is no question on its identity
A look down the snow covered street, children are at play.
With sleds and rides, down the frosty hills is their way.
A couple walk along a path, bundled and glued to one another,
Thoughts of love and life, their hearts are a-flutter.
As the sun begins to set, life escapes the fading day.
Streetlights flash on, darkness enters its daily place.
With the leaving light, no one is left around to stray,
The power of snow, it's ability to erase.
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