In the lap of this misleading white frost,
The playful summer is now somewhere lost.
Mixed in the perfume of bright meadow,
Comes the snowy winter's shadow.
Between the tumbling winter and spring's run,
Sleeping flowers and cold lakes crave for kisses of sun.
With the sun melting frozen forest's cold spirits,
Those bright warm bonfire are now lit.
Amid the noise of cold wind's whir and clatter,
Here comes the echo of this winter.
© Saniya Vashistha