Portilla

I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-gray,

And Winter´s dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

Thomas Hardy 

Ruego

"Shut not your doors to me proud libraries"

Walt Whitman

Nieva

"Abruma en sencillez esta nevada,

su terco desgranarse inconmovible."

Carlos Marzal