How gentle is the snow that falls,
Countlessly descending below
To meet the myriads that have gone before.
Each flake representing a thousand wishes,
Of someone from above,
Who yearns with love,
To reach out to those below.

Imagine how it would be,
Should we all feel the same as He,
Never ending gentleness,
Always peaceful, Always calm,
Inspite of upset, war, and sorrow,
Imbued with an inner glow to still the angry flow,
And live the morrow.

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