The Land of Nosesnumb by 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 am 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.