The days are shorter,
The nights are colder,
But still no snow fills the chilly air.
The misty mornings,
The pattern of warm breath exhaling,
But still no snow is there.
Thin jumpers cover everybody,
Trying to keep warm,
Against this rugged and freezing wind.
And the frost on the frozen ground,
Covers every blade of grass,
In a thin film of condensation; binding it from within.
The spiral releases the longer days,
And the shorter nights,
And still no snow fills the frosty air.
Why can’t there be any snow on the bare tree branches,
Or on the mossy logs, surrounding the hot flames,
Oh why is there no snow here?