Sunday Snowfall

by Douglas Polk

evergreens tinted with white,
turtledoves descend from gray skies,
cooing in the cold,
snowflakes dance to the ground,
the music unheard,
but the rhythm seen,
as the snowflakes swirl,
the day seems a modern miracle,
the street silent,
empty,
a Sunday,
the day of rest,
a moment unexpected,
when all seems right with the world.