Canada's Winter
A blissful silence,
blanketed in white crystals,
softest pillow.
The roaring storms,
come in like a lion.
roaring their defiant challenge
to the world.
A pattern
only Jack Frost could paint,
each different,
no to pieces the same.
Sleds, zipping down
whitened hills,
the joyous laughs,
ringing throughout
our sleepy little town.
Pink cheeks,
wet mittens,
boots by the fire,
cups of hot chocolate.
All these things belong in Canada's winter.
blanketed in white crystals,
softest pillow.
The roaring storms,
come in like a lion.
roaring their defiant challenge
to the world.
A pattern
only Jack Frost could paint,
each different,
no to pieces the same.
Sleds, zipping down
whitened hills,
the joyous laughs,
ringing throughout
our sleepy little town.
Pink cheeks,
wet mittens,
boots by the fire,
cups of hot chocolate.
All these things belong in Canada's winter.
Shanise Gelaude
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