Waking in the gallery
at dawn, and told it's snowing,
I raise the blinds and gaze into pure good fortune.
Courtyard steps a bright mirage of distance,
kitchen smoke trails light through flurried skies,
and the cold hangs jewels among whitened grasses.
Must be heaven's immortals in a drunken frenzy,
grabbing cloud and grinding it into white dust.
Li Po is one of my top ten favorite poets. :)