Anne Pollock

There's magic in every snowflake,
A gem of frozen light;
And who should better know than I,
A little winter sprite?

You'll likely never see me
(I'm very hard to find),
Though my handiwork o'er hill and dale
In whitest ink is signed.

Hollyberry is my name
For my cloak is crimson red,
And I fashion the frosty snowflake
while children are abed.

Above the wintry world I work,
From the vault of the sky I come,
Yonder, where Mother Wintress reigns
In the land of Nosesnumb.

There I and my sister fairies
Practice an alchemy learned long ago,
Taught by our mother and her mother's mother
Of changing rain to snow.

'Tis a highborn art I humbly proclaim
For no two snowflakes may be the same;
Each dainty design, an enchantress's delight,
Filigrees adorned in purest snow white.

So, romping about some snowy scene
In city or country fair,
Remember, dear children, I and my sisters
Are making snowflakes there.