The snow sprinkles from the sky,
Like salt from a shaker,

The cold wind bangs,
Like it wants to wake her,

I look at the white sky,
Like the fabric on the chair,

Thinking about summer,
Makes me wish I was there,

The footprints in the snow,
Are from the boots on our feet,

They are big and bulky,
Not small and petite,

The branches on the trees,
Are hanging down low,

Reaching for sunlight,
So they will grow...