Snow, Cambry's perspective

While I was feeling less than enthusiatic about the snow storm, Cambry was poetic, her assigned sonnet taking form from the weather. See why we're supposed to become as a little child? I was just worried about getting places in the muck. Cambry was watching a performance.

Impromptu Ballet

First one, then two, then three, they're all around!

Their tiny, little delicate skirts swirl,

the graceful dancers twirl, and leap, and bound,

as if the wind's the thing that makes them whirl.

The dancers all take part, this strange ballet,

A silent dance, and 'tis all improvised.

And so the gathered audience will stay.

There on the ground, they meet their quick demise.

The dainty dancers seem to float, suspend

The sun shines down, and makes it glisten so,

but that same sun shall bring about their end,

all on the ground, the quickly melting snow.

The children bring their hats and sleds and things,

and while they play, their glorious laughter rings.