The snow falls quietly upon my pane
Much more gently than summer's rain
The flakes drift silently, floating free
Sometimes I wish the snow were me
The view it has must be serene
Gazing at angles I've never seen
Peering down on all below
Eiderdown crystals softly flow
I wonder if they choose the place
To light and form their trim of lace
Or, perhaps there's a string to guide
Like a puppet, with fate implied.

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