By David L. Painter

There is something magical about snow,
those big fluffy flakes falling 
from a snow-laden sky,
the way they drift down not 
making a sound.

Some evenings I walk among the pines
that grow out on the edge of town
and watch as the snow glistens and is
bejeweled by the full moon light.
Down below the town is lit 
with its Christmas gaiety
reflecting the meaning of the season.

In the pinewoods I can feel the weight 
of the snow as I slowly walk
toward home to the warmth of
the loved ones who wait for me there.
Stepping through the doorway
the magic of the snow
has followed me home
spreads its enchantment as it falls 
from my shoulders.

David L. Painter is an internationally published poet. He is a member of Inner Circle Writers’ Group and Penned in the City. Painter’s works have been published in Sweetycat Press, Piker Press, Rye Whiskey Review, Clarendon House. Spillwords Press, The Writer’s Club, and Dyst Literary Journal.


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