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| Oh, the weather outside is frightful, But the fire is so delightful, And since we've no place to go, Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. It doesn't show signs of stopping, And I brought some corn for popping; The lights are turned way down low, Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. When we finally kiss good night, How I'll hate going out in the storm; But if you really hold me tight, All the way home I'll be warm. The fire is slowly dying, And, my dear, we're still good-bye-ing, But as long as you love me so. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. |
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| "It snows!" cries the schoolboy "Hurrah!" and his shout Is ringing through the palour and hall, While swift as a wing Of a swallow he's out And his playmates answer his call |
| Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the sky and earth below. |
| NIGHT OF WONDER Softly, so softly the snowflakes are falling, Deeply they bury all sounds of the night. Shimmering in moonlight, the world is now sleeping. Earth is transformed under down of pure white. Here in the quiet, time now is suspended, Matter transcended to silvery light. Stillness reduces all life to pure being, Silently, silently buried in white. Then through the stillness the strains of a carol, Lilting and pure as a ray of white light, Break through the silence with voices etheric, Filling the quiet with "O Holy Night". --Jean Herrick Warner |
| No snowflake ever falls in the wrong place. |
| Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem. |
| People are like snowflakes that from the heavens start: all uniquely different, all perfectly lovely when we open our hands and take them gently to our hearts |
| May our lives like the snowflake Be a pure-white symphony Until the chorus fills the earth With peaceful melody |
| The winter winds whip icing white And pile it on the lake. They swirl each snow mound soft and light Like frosting fluff on a cake. |
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| Elizabeth J. Holt |
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| SNOWFLAKES Did you know, that every flake of snow That forms so high in the gray winter sky And falls so far, is a bright six-pointed star? Each crystal grows - a flower as perfect as a rose. Lace could never make the patterns of a flake. No brooch of figured silver could approach It's delicate craftsmanship. And think: Each pattern is distinct. Of all the snowflakes floating there - all the millions in the air None is the same. Each star is newly forged, as faces are, Shaped to its own design like yours and mine. And yet ... each one melts when its flight is done; Holds frozen loveliness a moment, even less Suspends itself in time -- and passes likes a rhyme. --Clive Sansom |
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