The Snow Plow

The first one through the vast, white stillness
Piled up like marshmallow topping on the morn;
A hint of sun paints pink across the landscape,
And cotton candy clouds belie the storm.

It cuts a path between snow-laden wires
And trees that stand white-shrouded, stately ghosts.

Its whirling light sparkles on the lingering flurries,
And its blade spray tosses frosting on the posts.