It snows
Torrents of cotton
The ground is immaculated white

Snowy days
Have a particular silence
That is possible to hear
Like muffed cracks

Vastitude of softness
Serene and sensual

The wind comes in gusts
Slashes the windows
As a desperate lost traveler
Looking for shelter
In the middle of a storm

Blanket of snow
The only sovereign thing standing right now

Tiny flakes
Fall as parachute jumpers
Embracing the surfaces
With the delicacy 
Of a lover's touch...

-Simone Bittencourt Shauy- 

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