Snow was falling softly yesterday morning, and a couple of deer nibbled on whatever edibles they found in the wooded area behind my backyard fence.
The scene prompted me to dig up a bit of winter poetry. I found this bit from Gary E. McCormick, and I changed his word “evening” to “morning”:
It comes very quickly
This winter vision
In the wink of a swift instant
On this will-o’-the-wisp morning.