A Meditation on Winter's Sharp and Painful Beauty

In wintertime I often am inspired
To lyricism when, so late at night,
It starts to snow. It sometimes has transpired
That, although I'm not overfond of white,
I find myself quite nearly overcome
By all the calm, still beauty of the scene.
That's only when the wind has refrained from
Refining those snowflakes to razor-keen
And wounding missles -- or when, unlike now,
The glare bounced off the snow won't leave me blind
Just as my feet hit ice and, like a plow
In grace, I slide a yard on my behind.
At least, so dazzled, I don't have to see
Who all is there to watch and laugh at me.