She Is Winter

She hovers above the soft ground,
Her dainty feet mere inches above the smooth earth.
The dress she wears shimmers,
Made of the smallest of ice crystals,
Woven together with the thread of frost.
Over it, she has the cloak of snow,
White and pristine, it hangs from her small frame,
Limp and unmoving, except for a gentle sway,
Made by the wind, in the dark of the night.
She is winter.

She sees a flower, a bright, colorful blossom,
Poking tentatively from the frozen grass.
Slowly, with careless grace, she bends down,
Looking at the little bloom, all cheerful and bright,
In this time of the night, and of the dark.
Her lips form a slow, small smile,
Just a tremor as she bends farther, and whispers softly...'Sleep...'
She is winter.

She is so delicate, so feminine.
She is capable of great fury, and great tranquility.
One minute, her eyes blazing and furious,
A powerful blizzard erupts.
Then, just seconds later, she calms,
Her eyes cool and searching,
As a light, steady, comforting blanket of snow,
Sparkling, falls and covers
The small town and families in their homes.
She is winter.

And when Spring comes to take over,
She quietly retreats and glides back from where she came.
Back to her domain of snow and eternal ice.
There, her palace waits with glittering beauty for her return.
She dines in her spacious, crystal hideaway.
Feasting on crystal plates and frosted crystal ware.
There, in her jeweled hidden fortress,
She waits for Fall to summon her.
She is winter.

Her face is of porcelain perfection.
Her hair, so fine and silky, is the lightest blonde.
Her eyes, the color of the cold, have no warmth in them.
She has skin the color of the snow,
Pale, smooth skin that has not a single flaw.
Her lips perfect her face.
This is where the frost, ice and snow pours and trickles from,
When she casts her frozen spell.
For she is Winter.

by Shanna Seabolt

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