It sticks to the surface of every home,
Drifts down gently, never on its own.
Covers the streets, cars and fence posts,
But it's favourite is trees, which it covers the most.
It shimmers brightly at every angle,
In strobes of blue, green and silver.
It breezes in on wintery gales,
And covers gates lined with gold.
It stays for a few days, laying back,
Relaxing on the landscape, covering the tracks;
But when it finally sits up, and decides to go,
Nobody will forget that it's name is Snow.
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