A painting of a hill on the Snows plague

Paint a land where crisscrossing figures
fall before hungry happy eyes
Tell of place where the skies see seizures
without which there are no sighs

Cut the soil, cut some mud
Mold the mud into some hill
Place the hill on the cut soil
And watch a quiet town
Grow beneath the hills shelter

Cut some paper, mold a bird
Cut some thread of seeds
Give the bird life and let her
Sow the seeds upon the hills mud
And watch it all grow to a forest

Paint some white cones, cut some streams
Cut the ever falling balls of snow
Give it life, let the snow flakes plague the hill
Let the town feel the icy grip of the cold
And prepare to undo and redo this all again