The Feathers of Winter

                   Soft and white, like goose down, it floated down;
                   White feathers covered the ground in mounds.
                   Folded within the floating snow was winter's cold,
                   The cold that thawed a moment frozen in time,
                   A time when the goose down was not made of snow
                   And the nights drifted by on the warmth of feathers.

                   The warmth of night turned heat with increasing feathers
                   And the fire burned as blankets of white came down,
                   Came down on sheets- pure white as fresh snow.
                   Upon the sheets, well formed ivory mounds
                   And it is this warmth, which is frozen in time,
                   That Glistened in the nights removed from cold.

                   Remembering with sniffles that are not from a cold,
                   As memories form like a bird growing feathers;
                   A warm quilt that covers me with the past time,
                   A time when the warmth was under goose down.
                   Of these times my reflections grow in mounds
                   As I sit and watch the fresh falling snow.

                   The snow, in the glow of that not made of snow,
                   Infects my mind like a sweeping winter cold
                   That grows with the thoughts of those ivory mounds--
                   The mounds topped with beautiful dark feathers.
                   At this contrast that warms my soul I look down
                   And the reflection spreads within the time.

                   Oh!  This time- the time, my time within time
                   Preserved by nature in the cold falling snow;
                   Time seen in my mind- time going down
                   Into the warmth and out of the cold,
                   Into the goose down not made of feathers
                   And I count them three- there are three mounds.

                   Over time my mind stands and peers from time's mounds,
                   Looking from the cold to what warmed time,
                   And like so many hairs, my memory feathers
                   Into the glows that removed all the snow.
                   Within the warming glow, death finds the cold
                   And buries deep under mounds- way down.

                   Now way down- in death, cold resurrects the time
                   Upon the mounds of beautiful ivory snow
                   Removed from the cold and on a bed of feathers.