Here the powdered snow falls fast
Like drops of doubt onto our faith
It does not settle, cannot last
As insubstantial as a wraith.
Though cold it looks, the asphalt’s heat
Transmutes the white to wet, unseen,
As our weak faith resists the beat
Of doubt as if it had not been.
So come, my love, let’s show our mettle;
Never let the doubting settle.