Out walking in the snow, A memory thick like dream; The trees are a whispering glow; And I abide within this beam.
The night unfolds, cloaked in white, A world reborn from whispered sighs; Where every layer of sweet light Holds tightly in its arbor skies.
The peace of winter caresses me, Each breath like an ancient song, Holding on to whispers tender, To breathe where peace and stillness throng.
- Robert Frost