As the Winter storm approaches
to cover my world in white
a blanket pure as fresh picked cotton
endless in my sight

I shall sit outside my mountain home
and watch it all unfold
a foot or more would warm my heart
if this old man's truth be told

See and hear the softest noise
in each flake's slow descent
a beautiful word
a symphony heard
inspiring event

I will close my eyes in prayer
as the final flakes are falling
and will be at rest
when the white is gone
for this day
is my calling