Poetry in the Snow

The snow, how it glistens,
Wonderfully wet,
White and unmarked,
A poets palette.

She regards her stick,
From it words will rush,
It is full of potential,
A poets brush.

Her mind is filled,
With words in restraint,
Colorful, poetic words,
A poets paint.

She picks up her stick,
She is ready to start,
Words form in the snow,
A poets art.

She stands back to look,
And laughs with elation,
The poem is complete,
A poets creation.


*NOTE: This poem is from a LONG time ago. But I can't remember when it's from, exactly, so I can't back-date it accurately. 2006 is a very bad guess.