Classic Poem

A snow may come as quietly
as cats can walk across a floor.
It hangs its curtains in the air,
and piles its weight against the door.
It fills old nests with whiter down
than any swan has ever known,
and then, as silent as it came,
you find the pale snow bird has flown.

But snow can come quite otherwise,
with windy uproar and commotion,
with shaken trees and banging blinds,
still salty from the touch of ocean.
Such storms will wrestle with strong boys,
and set the girls' skirts wildly blowing,
until it throws its cap in air
and shouts, “Well, goodbye now! I'm going!”