Summer Snow

Cotton flies like summer snow Through the little city with no one to clothe Descended from giants whose purpose long forgotten That even in this fabricated world... Nothing feels better than cotton Fluffy clouds carry the tiny seeds Across the wind with no one in need The white puffs dance and twist and weave Like tiny sprites in the summer breeze Till finally they must hit the ground Or whatever else happens to be lying around They line the dirt trails and driveways and streets Sticking to everything that they meet They give a soft feel to month of June But of a light white dusting nothing is immune I saw my dog salted and thought into what has she gotten? Then laughed and said "Oh!" "It's that cotton pickin, frickin cotton!"