I was drifting this morn under the canopy of a fluid white snow,

gently it came upon me with its subtle nature,

With my feet frozen in place and my eyes wide to see,

a song came drifted to me.

.

Summer and spring swayed to the notes,

while falls temperament revered the tempo,

but over all it still continued to flow,

waves upon waves until all were dead in white,

and the chorus rang out in soft mellows.

.

Perhaps and just maybe,

the winds will chime in with a bellow;

but alas the survey has come to its close,

and my feet are loosened once more,

my treks they lead me on,

one footing over boot and onward,

to the place that calls my serenity,

a smoke, a drink, and a fire.

.

But the drift comes in;

and more.

.

Robert McColley (c) 2025