Snow shroud melting in places

A snow shroud is melting in places,
winters a harsh trail.
April day is glorious in streams,
water washes away the essence of troubles,

that there are still from winter,
in ravines: ice and windbreak.
Rays from the sun did not get
to the ground. Then

the treasure of frosts of the past will melt,
leaving a wet canvas.
And in the meadows, slightly overgrown,
as before, barefoot run.