A thick whiteness emerges from the night,
In the garden the blackbirds quarrel
But the fog stifles the noise
And garnishes the trees with pearls.
In the sky, the sun is a pale and cold white disc.
On the hill, the frost, son of Winter,
Bloomed the grass with thousand diamants;
Everything seems still and nothing seems to live.
However, above the silence, a small river
Makes music for whoever wants to listen to it
And forms with the wind a perfect orchestra .
It's a fantastic symphony !
By their chords, they play the cold,
The chills, the frosts, the winter and its attendant pains,
Also the evenings by the fireside, the breath of wind ...
Yes, but for children, the snowman !