The last cold wind swept along the woods,

The Spring was soon coming good,

The patches of snow and ice melted slow,

The water under frozen river started to flow.

Father Frost and Mother Snow stood along the shore,

Watching Daughter Storm amidst the trees roar.

They were waiting for a little Snowflake,

The little member for their family to intake.

Crafted with the Creator’s hands,

Breathed to form in heavenly lands.

The Little Snowflake descended down,

Down to his family, to their small town.

The Little Snowflake was but at a disadvantage,

For the Spring had the land under his manage.

The Little Snowflake knew not what to do,

For he stumbled too fast to have a clue.

The land was clear and the sun broke through,

But the poor Little Snowflake had none to turn to.

The Sun shone bright and merciless,

The Little Snowflake was thence reduced lifeless.

Father Frost and Mother Snow was saddened by their loss,

There their little son, lay, a drop on the green moss.

They prayed hard and they prayed long,

They righted all they did wrong.

The Daughter Storm rustled through the leaves,

Knowing nothing of the latest aggrieves.

She watched them silent in prayer,

She observed them later with much care.

The Ugly Gale from west came with an evil smile,

Told her what happened and what went vile.

The Daughter Storm was saddened by the life impaired,

More did she feel betrayed for what they kept unshared.

She ravaged through the woods in silent fury and despair,

Became a nightmare, a savage and reckless beyond compare.

Her fury extended wide and raged strong,

Lasting even for eons long.

She resented the Summer and the Sun,

Everything that beckoned her of the damage done.

The Lords heard their desperate plea,

For they gifted them a child and glee,

But the sorrow turned Daughter Storm so blind,

That she had no eyes for the blessings plenty to find.

Feeling vile, vindicated and needing peace,

She carved his name in her path of lease.

She finally found solace in his remembrance,

In her fear of being forgotten, memories were her repentance.
Image courtesy

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/286768?utm_campaign=winter&utm_medium=pin&utm_source=Pinterest

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