THE DECORATOR

The Decorator came last night,
With buckets of snow white paint,
With care, She spread it everywhere,
Exhibiting no restraint.

While people slept, Her brushes swept
The world to which they would awake,
With skill and speed, She did Her deed,
Her job all done by day-break.

A simple scene, pristine and clean,
At dawn’s first early light,
Not any print, or mark, or blemish,
Disturbed this awesome sight.

A virgin snow upon the ground,
Sparkling in the morning sun,
Dazzling diamonds everywhere,
How rich had earth become.

A bit of red flew overhead,
A ruby cardinal on the wing,
It sought a branch on which to perch,
And lift its tiny head to sing.

Fine crystal, bead-like lavalieres,
Hung down from hand-picked trees,
Making rainbows where they dangled,
In the sun and winter’s breeze.

A land bejeweled by the Lady’s hand,
So real to mind and eye,
But should men snatch those lovely gems,
They’d surely melt and die.

Sculptured grandeur in the morning,
Which might dissolve by afternoon,
Perhaps, by night, just dampened spots,
How sad; all could be gone so soon.

That is, until the next snowfall,
When the Decorator comes once more,
And paints the whole world white again,
More lovely than before.