Evergreen limbs reach out for You, refusing to turn in their verdent green frocks while all else grays in sleep. But fir roots dig down deep for nourishment, waiting, waiting, waiting.
Suddenly, pure holy flakes fall from the sky covering, covering everything in haunting dry-bone white.

Ah, but the waiting firs, you clothe in gowns of soft flakes. And the thunder quakes, Awake!… the bridegroom is ready.