Soundless, clouds of tumbling snowflakes
Deck earth’s passive, calm repose
Like a rush of ghostly children
Crowding from school’s far-flung doors
Silently their shrieking laughter
Clings to fences, field and face
Flood of mirth from heaven’s rafter
Wraps the earth in soft embrace
Maybe it’s the down of angels
Maybe it’s the kiss of God
Ten-thousand-thousand silver spangles
Crown the dull and dreary sod
Intricate, micro-perfection
Tracing lashes, cheeks and lips
Miracles with no direction
Brush earth’s out-stretched finger-tips
Earth, clad in shades of redemption
Resplendent, pristine work of art
Dazzling robe sent down from heaven
Picture of a blood-bought heart
Ten-thousand-thousand crystal whispers
Metaphor of boundless grace
Breathes a calm and holy splendor
Over winter’s master piece
Janet Martin
"Come now, let us reason together," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; Isa. 1:18
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