White folds
Fallow fields of early winter snow
Barren branches inked
Against the sky
Marking time while frozen
Leaves blow by
It's a cruel coming down
Like twenty mountains washed into the ground
Like the woman you have lost
But now have found
Disappearing just before you hear the sound
You are. . . .
White folds
The gathered fabric of the angel's robe
Sharp shards cast in glass
So clear and cold
The soft skin of a wrist
As you lose hold
You are. . . .
You are. . . .
White folds
The satin covered lid begins to close
In your grasp I place
A single rose
The silence sounding through the woods
Echoes
You are. . . .
You are. . . .
You are. . . .
Shining like the early morning star
White folds
It's snowing and it's going to snow
White folds
It's snowing and it's going to snow