Winter Whispers in New England

In the realm where the maples softly sway, A whisper grows as night meets day; Feathery secrets from the clouds depart, Draping the lands in a white, silent art. Nestled hamlets wake to a frosty embrace, While flurries dance with a quaint, quiet grace. New England wears Winter's pure, lustrous crown, In the tranquil dawn of her towns painted town.

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