The fallen snow molds herself to the branch
And takes shape along the bark.
She lays quiet and undisturbed.
Dependent on lifeless support,
She clings for her life,
Fearing the ground below.
Every snow flake, subdued,
Embraces the edge so rough,
And she hopes that her
Internal strength is enough.
But when the wind finally takes its mark—
Ready, set, go—
It blows her off into a brook nearby
Where she melts into the water’s flow.
No comments:
Post a Comment