Maybe I’m romantic, but the firs snow seems to me
About as near perfection as we shall ever see.
Tumbling, swirling snowflakes, that blanket sordid earth–
White and pure and stainless as the air that gave them birth.
What else is there in Nature: flowers, birds, or trees,
Or lonely stars, or butterflies, or lazy drone of bees
To equal in its beauty, its solemn, white-lipped song,
The appeal to every human, that the first snow brings along?
In this covering all the dirty world, a lesson I can see:
If God can whitewash all its sins, there’s hope for even me!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 10, 1936
