Here the powdered snow falls fast

Like drops of doubt onto our faith

It does not settle, cannot last

As insubstantial as a wraith. 

Though cold it looks, the asphalt’s heat 

Transmutes the white to wet, unseen,

As our weak faith resists the beat 

Of doubt as if it had not been.

So come, my love, let’s show our mettle;

Never let the doubting settle. 

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