The setting sun’s last fading light,
Was hidden by a lowering cloud.
The sky was black, as was the night,
The pelting rain was beating loud.
“Ah, wintertime can be so bleak,”
I cried aloud to anyone.
“It leaves you breathless, cold, and weak,
And wintertime has just begun.
But when the sun again arose,
There, gleaming, was a snow-clad tree.
A scene no artist could compose,
Was suddenly revealed to me.
The trees were blazingly aflame,
And sparkled with a brilliant hue.
The brighter than the trees became,
The more my world was shining new.
Quite stealthily it crept around the house,
As silently as does a meadow mouse,
Still moving through the darkness of the night,
Until, by dawn, my lawn was covered white,
And though the sun soon ordered it to go,
I so enjoyed the first November snow.
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