The forecast threatened snow, so I looked out
To search the darkened sky, and there it was,
Its pure white flakes crowding the breathless air,
Falling so gently but relentlessly,
The silent power that broke Napoleon
And stopped his army in its haughty pride.
The trees that ringed us round were like a cloud
Of shining witnesses, their intricate shapes
Illumined by the light from street and window,
A vision of Nature lit by artifice.
The beech trees with their pendant, snowy twigs
Were changed to frozen, silent waterfalls
And every object clothed in purity.
By what strange prescience on our screens appeared
The winter world of snowbound Narnia?