Mid bitter air,
and swirling storms
old Washington Park
may seem forlorn.


Many a stranger
rush through the snow
eager to leave,
eager to go.


The benches were cold,
frosted with white
not a decent seat
to spend the night.


Standing overhead,
the benches of white
were tall lanky lampposts
lighting the night.


And if a stranger
would stop to take a look
the scene might really
be from a book.


The proud  trees were adorned
with teardrops of ice,
When  the sun hits just right,
it looks quite nice.  


Beneath the trees,
lay soft white snow
under the tall lamps
it seemed to glow.


Some may dash,
Through the cold bitter air
Wrapped in scarves,
Not seeming to care.


That they are missing
Much more than they know,
But just can’t see it
‘Cause all the dang snow