Snowflakes
Slow flakes,
Shaken from a starry sky,
Floating through the air
Like tiny fragile ghosts,
Settling on black branches
Glistening with spectral frost.
The great silence of falling snow.
Each flake unique,
As delicate as old lace,
Pure and white as an untroubled soul.
They brighten up the gloom
Of an early winter afternoon.
Each flake insubstantial, transient,
Their lives, like ours, are brief,
Their beauty a passing moment of radiance.
In the light of a street lamp they fleetingly transcend,
Only to be seen no more.
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