The moon's pale face illuminates mine,
As I stand here in the meadow.
I admire the path she's made across the water,
The path I long the tread o'er.
The long silver grass sways at my feet,
But I, like the oak, remain still.
Caressed by the wind and captivated by it's song,
I stand in Winter's early chill.
I am paralized by the unearthly silence,
Before it breaks under an owl's call.
The teeming clouds above me sigh,
And I catch the first snow fall.

Stephanie Dower

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-snow-fall/