In The Snows...

Frosty chills and their whoosh,

Exists here flora such as pine and fir and spruce,

On the mountains,

Milk that drains

Cottony-white snow

With twilight, it glows,

Churning rivers,

As if to gravels it has, clamorous murmur

The glacial clasps around,

Conceals the under the snowdrift, the ground,

Frost on the pines, it's frozen,

Cones are dangling in dozens,

Warm layers over the dwellers,

In crispy times, water is frozen in gallons

There's no season, it seems

Just needs a moment for its esteem.