Cologne’s Silent Morning

Cologne’s Silent Morning

A Friday dawn, close to Christmas time,

The world lay quiet, frozen, and sublime.

The usual hum, the morning’s cheer,

Had vanished, leaving silence near.

I checked the clock, but all was right,

Yet outside lay a softened sight—

Snow had fallen through the night,

Blanketing streets in gentle white.

I moved to the window, spellbound, slow,

To see the rooftops draped in snow.

Each tree was wrapped, each branch adorned,

The city, by winter's hand transformed.

In eager haste, I grabbed my coat,

And out the door, my breath afloat.

The snow lay thick, untouched and deep,

A silent world in peaceful sleep.

To the sky-train slow I made my way,

The only soul on this winter day.

A lonely train at the station stood,

Its silver gleam in a snow-filled wood.

The train took off, slow through the town,

Past frozen streets, each quieted down.

The trees, like cones of ice cream bright,

Bowed softly under winter’s might.

And as we crossed the Rhine, we stopped midway,

The driver’s voice had this to say:

“No farther can we go today;

The snow has blocked the city’s way.”

So I turned around, my path alone,

The first to break the frosted stone.

The bridge was mine, each step my own,

In a city hushed, like a dream unknown.

Snowflakes tumbled, soft and round,

Whirling gently to the ground.

I stretched my hand to catch their flight,

To taste their cold and perfect light.

Back through the streets, the morning bare,

I left fresh footprints here and there.

The Christmas lights in windows shone,

A quiet glow as I walked alone.

The market stalls were draped in white,

Their festive charm beneath the light.

Each tiny bulb, each snowy crown,

A softened glow from all around.

With each soft step, the world stood still,

My thoughts grew calm, my heart grew filled.

In snow’s embrace, alone I walked,

This moment was mine - no one talked.

Back to my door, I turned once more,

To take in all this winter-wonder lore—

A city veiled in magic’s cloak,

A world transformed as morning broke.

In Cologne’s hush, so pure, so deep,

A gift of snow I’d always keep.