Poetry: Sonnet 1: The Author

When it snows, I watch, have seen

How they grace upon the ground.

Thus they fall to make no sound

Never rising, but falling as if free,

As if they found land of Liberty.

Descend in heaps upon this mound:

Giving earth a pure white crown.

This crown's for you, 'tis for me;

The earth uplif't, we are too:

Rulers of all that is to offer,

But banishing bad we are in robes of blue.

O Heaven, have mercy o' us the scoffers.

So let the snowfall where the wind has blew,

And may One now reign, the God, the Author.

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