Beneath the silver moon’s soft glow,
The world lies still, wrapped in snow.
Each flake a silent, whispered prayer,
A gentle kiss upon the air.

The trees stand tall, their branches bare,
Like sentinels in the frosty air.
Their shadows stretch across the ground,
In a dance where no sound is found.

Footsteps crunch on icy paths,
Breaking the silence, like gentle laughs.
Breath visible in the cold night,
A fleeting ghost in pale moonlight.

The world is hushed, in winter’s hold,
A tranquil tale, quietly told.
Wrapped in a blanket of white so pure,
A season’s gift, serene and sure.