Landscapes of what's never been seen
Covering the light.
A silhouette shrouded by night
With shadows aloft.

Nothing, but these sights that don't mean
Anything, but fright
Of this creature - canvas so white.
Just don't peek too oft.

Brushes akin to knives so soft,
Piercing the painting.
Colors, on the brink of fainting,
Bleed out their essence.

Mountains of white, now cold and doffed.
A whisper echoes,
As someone calls for the meadows.
A shadow in need of a presence.