I make no apology for posting poetry people, and today I'd like to share one of Henry Longfellow's poems with you.
Longfellow was one of the great American poets- (by far the greatest in my opinion was Walt Whitman who's work I would commend to you)-who lived between 1807-1882. He had a sad adult life, both of his wives dying tragically.
Anyhow, I post this poem because its -2*c here in Kings Heath & it feels like snow!
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow