The Plains lie still in the wintertime,
gathering drifts of a chance design.
The north wind shapes the curvaceous lines
that flatter the figures of the pines.
Whilst Beethoven played in the background,
snowflakes chaotically fluttered around;
scattering about to the glorious sounds,
as whirlwinds of violins touched and rebound.
Looking like gnats made of ice and snow,
landing with ease as the music slows,
then rising again with their hearts aglow
on turbulent gusts the trumpets blow!
Spinning around like a twister there,
charming their mates with crystal ware.
Sparkling now, they flit through the air,
awake, aloft, attuned and aware.
Oh, that we might be like snowflakes – each one rare,
light be thy burden, no weight to bear.
Dancing and twirling on through the air,
true lovers in flight without a care!
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