Under my own window
White is birch's hue -
Snowy blanket-shadow,
Silver patterned too.
On its fluffy branches
With a snowy hem
Tassels' blossom blanches -
Fringe's icy gem.
Standing, birch is yearning,
Silent, sleepy spire,
Falling snow is burning
In its golden fire.
Lazy dawn in wrinkles,
Circling all around,
Now its branches sprinkles -
Newly silver-crowned.