I believe it was November
many years and years ago,
when an early hurly burly
brought an anxious winter snow.
Not a stone was left uncovered.
Every branch was burdened so.
Great drifts made the fence posts pyramids,
as wonders came in myriads
of countless crystal miracles,
and spectacles galore.

Windy whispers crossed the snowscape.
Frigid phantoms came to howl,
yet a magic muffled silence
hid the wing beats of an owl.
From his perch up in the old red barn,
the wise old looking fowl
had been keeping watch throughout the night,
No motion had escaped his sight.
A snow hare in the pale moonlight
would soon become his meal.

From across the snowy meadow
in a little hidden dell,
a mother fox had seen the snow hare
that would feed her kits quite well.
Slinking slyly without notice
by an oak the woodsmen fell,
set to pounce, she watched the raptor dive,
each talon thrusting like a knife.
The fox sprang forth!
The owl Cried!
The hare slipped down it's hole.

I'd been watching from my cabin
by a wondrous crackling fire,
with my hound asleep beside me,
it was time that I retire.
'Twixt the blankets of my featherbed,
while snowdrifts drifted higher,
I took flight in dreams far, far away.
On tropic sunny sands I played.
O'er salty deep blue ocean waves,
I slumbered safe and warm.