o pretty, floating through the air,

Melts on the hand, leaving nothing there.

A lacy pattern, all its own,

As, by the breeze, it's gently blown.

One flake drifts down, without a sound,

Yet, joining others on the ground,

Forms a blanket, thick and dense

On road, pavement and garden fence.

A perfect winter cloak, so white,

Continues to fall throughout the night.

One little flake, no more alone,

Can make the early riser moan

And think of travel, now delayed,

And windscreen with defroster sprayed.

Some see the beauty of the scene,

Others the problems it will mean.

Children enjoy a time of fun

Until it melts in the winter sun.

– Jackie Morgan (Forest Bard),

Beauchamp Meadow, Lydney.