Snow, clean, undriven and so pure
How Could anyone ask for more?
Showing in its purity..
The right for which your gods made ye

The Snow is a gift
A pastime for children
A vaction for all
This lovely substance..
known in winter, herald in fall

Do you remember? Have you known?
those winter days
Those whitened fields
in which you played
Falling, shifting, never the same
Oh so wild, yet so tame

Snow, clean, undriven and so pure
How Could anyone ask for more?
Showing in its purity..
The right for which your gods made ye