Photo by Dan Ryan
Tress in our London Plane tree alleé.
The Snow
The snow, in bitter cold,
Fell all the night;
And we awoke to see
The garden white.
And still the silvery flakes
Go whirling by,
White feathers fluttering
From a gray sky.
Beyond the gate, soft feet
In silence go,
Beyond the frosted pane
White shines the snow.
F. Ann Elliott
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