White Hot Snow

Winter walks toward the symphony of spring,
Listening to the Mockingbirds and Blue Jays sing.
Oh but the death the cold can bring.

Touched by the gloom and chill of snow,
A rose sits nestled in an icy glow.
Northern winds billow to and fro.

A thunderhead sits at heaven’s gate,
As the moon shines down in an hour late.
Snow flurries about in a frenzied state.

Catastrophe for spring it seems,
But for one, a thing of dreams.
White hot snow turns to steam.

Could it be within winter’s scorn,
A noon day’s sun’s blaze was born?
An ice sculpture lay rose adorned.