First Snow ...

A couple of years back I had written this short poem in Minnesota. The love for the first snow is still there, though I can no longer witness it.

Sitting in the classroom,
I looked through the window,
You could see the excitement grow,
It was time for the first snow.

A vision beyond description,
With all the freshness and whiteness galore,
Somethin' so pristine, so pure,
A moment to be treasured for sure.

Though the flurries keep on coming,
It is something you no more love,
Perhaps because now we all know,
It lacks the lustre of its first show.

In winter life freezes,life is slow,
It chills as the winds begin to blow,
Just this fondness for the first snow,
Makes you look forward to many a winters that follow.