A carpet of white, no footsteps to show
The impairing, intrusion of man,
An impression of purity, peacefulness too,
As far as the eye can scan.
The old garden gate, outlined with snow
Transformed by the magic of white
Into a frame, for this Winter scene,
That's enhanced by the morning's clear light.
Trees over-laden, their branches weighed down
By the heavy treasures they hold,
This treasure of white nature placed in their arms,
This is Winter, as it starts to unfold.
Leaves on the hedge, the edge well-defined
With such delicate traces of frost;
Cobwebs that gently hold shining glass beads,
Not a single outline is lost into this tableaux of silver and white
A wild creature reveals first his nose,
Then suddenly appears his thick, golden coat
And he sniffs the air as he goes.
Two pointed ears, pricked forward so
He can hear the slightest sound,
Very warily and deliberate,
He treads over the snowy ground.
His soft brown eyes, so bright and alert,
So appealing in every way;
Pointed face and shiny black nose,
What is he trying to say?
Is he following a well-known trail
That leads towards his lair?
Is he lost in his desperate search for food?
Has he left his family elsewhere?
The beauty of this Winter morning remains
To the scene the fox added much,
As he crept cautiously into this snowy white world
And added his own Winter's touch.