Snowfall
The dust of the Gods falls
With a certain sense of grace.
Unlike cousin Rain,
She does not fall
In lament,
Each splash of sorrow bringing life to barren ground.
Unlike cousin Hail,
She does not fall
In anger,
Each explosion of hatred colliding with that which binds.
No,
The white powder has pride,
She falls
For freedom,
Resisting gravity but not striking back at the foe,
Floating in silent peace,
Whilst dancing in extravagant jubilation,
She gently lands among her waiting sisters.
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