In winter storms she comes en Pointe
    to the drifted meadow, where she whirls
        and leaps within the safety of falling snow.

Flanks steaming, she rests only a moment,
nose lifted to puff smoke high to the wind.
Standing silent, she is a ghost in winter white,
a child of frost, this blue-eyed albino doe.

Copyright 2004 by Lucy Suitor Holt