snowflakes come to rest
on firs’ soft needles
swaying as a night breeze
turns them to glisten in starlight
sleeping eyes
smooth, even breath
lone plaintive song of an owl
lingers high in the hills
quiet adoration
as winter covers the forest
coolly glowing blue
with last light before dawn
The Word Rummager 
I love the sounds of this one. “…firs’ soft needles” is wonderful, as is “coolly glowing blue.” —Chagall
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