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The Snowflake

The Snowflake Sit quietly And pretend There's a roaring fire In the fireplace The snow Silently builds Against the north side Of the house. Smell The smoke? Listen To the wind howl? And maybe In the cold night Hear a barn door Banging away? But we're wrapped In our feather filed Quilt q Quite snug... My feet Cold from taking Off my boots Then walking barefoot Across The bare wood floor. My big ears Tingle as they warm. A cricket Brought in With the Armful of Seasoned oak Warmed by the fire Begins, To sing... Crick-et, crick-et, crick-et. Frost had his Road not taken, Alluding to how Being different Is the now. For me The last line Says... An insignificant Choice Makes all the Difference, There is no going back. Fpr Lillian Hillman Walking through The deep snow to the Train Station. There is No Train And looking about There is No Station. Lost in a Winter That Has no end, A creative But disturbed woman. The heat rises From the iron cookstove A curl Of escaped smoke Finds passage Through the beaded Ceiling Into the cold attic. There on warming Cedar shingles Of the roof A snowflake falls. Absorbing Heat It becomes a droplet Of Water And begins its j Jouirney To the sea. But wait, It cools And upon reaching The roof’s edge. Pauses Then joins others In its descent As sheep Crowding to escape Over an unseen Barrier. Gives up its Latent heat And becomes A part of... Morning and In the clear air The icicle Among others Sparkles In the Sun Dangles From the roof’s Edge. Snap one off And taste the cold With just a hint Of the cedar That gave it birth. Memories Are forever. A bit of mind’s cosmos To be shared.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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