Beauty As Tragedy
When I see a snowflake close-up,
the real thing, not the hippie kind,
and stare at that branching pattern
it strikes a deep chord in my mind,
and when I see all that snow fall,
carpeting my grassy backyard,
forming that pure, unblemished sheet,
it does stir something in my heart.
Looks like it should be a still-life,
something preserved for all to see,
but I know that’s impossible,
and that such things never can be,
since I have to get firewood,
churn up that snow with my footprints,
and my kids will be out playing,
I could never take that from them,
even the local animals
will go scamper across the white,
the beauty only will exist
in my memories of this sight.
It makes it all seem so tragic,
losing something sublime and serene…
Frost once said, ‘Nothing gold can stay.’
I understand now what he means.
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