Beach Flowers

I look out, wishing there was an ocean
Instead the mountains are lined with snow,
I sometimes get the curious notion
That out of the blanket, flowers will grow.

I gaze upon a field of colorful sand
Not affected by the brisk and angry cold,
But standing firm on this beautiful land
Until the day it will be picked and sold.

I wander outside and hold out my palm,
And try to catch the crisp and fragile flakes
That flutters down from a storm so calm
To add to the wondrous sheet it makes.

Even though the ground is covered in creams
It doesn't stop me from exploring my dreams.