By Grace May Stutsman
The Yuletide snow falls in crystal flake;
Naked little shrubs clutch to their hearts
Thin shreds of winter's beauteous cloak.
The brook pauses,
Then draws a long glistening robe
Snugly to its throat.
A trail of tiny footprints, dimly outlined,
Beckons down a purple-shadowed glen
And zigzags into silence.
A Yuletide benediction falls in crystal flakes . .