Through the window of twisted iron
And glass, frosted by time,
Comes a river of the moon's mesh light
Each beam soft and fine.
The velvety evergreens you see outside
Beckon to your soul,
As they sway in the storm, silently shedding
Their shimmering blanket of snow.
The icy particles catch in the night,
Carried aloft on the wind,
Nothing more than dormant sprites
Until the moonlight envelopes them.
Then, each carefully crafted flake
Breathes with the life of the sky,
Equally jealous and vain, they sing,
"There are no others as graceful as I!"
Yet the proud moon does not stop to watch
The snowy serenade,
Instead, his light continues to ride
The past-midnight fog to play
A game with you, how special you are!
For the moon to call you out.
So you prance into the cloak of snow
Where the last leaves fly about.
Your jet-black coat is darker than
Any night this forest has seen.
When the freezing snow lands upon
It, your fur brightens its gleam.
The one lone, leafless tree in the yard
Lowers its branches to you.
You leap with prowess equaled by none,
As the other creatures proved.
Paw by paw you slink your way
Up the wooded path,
With your tail perfectly curled high
For the balance so many lack.
Finally, now, you reach the branch
To which you were invited
By the king of the night, the moon so bright
(Your emerald eyes excited).
This meeting was never meant to be
A highly formal affair.
Instead, an exchange of a fond "Hello"
In the sweet, wintery air.
You greet the moonlight, and then he departs,
Headed back to his heaven
By means of your snow-kissed, royal black fur
Just in time for the first light of day.