An ode
to the short lived snowflake
that took refuge
between my curls
this morning.

Fell from the sky
into the arms
of my woolen beanie,
bouncing off
into my hair.

To the short-lived snowflake
that started off
as a drop of water
in Lake Erie, many moons ago
and whispered its last breath
into my ear,
at eight fifty-two.

It was almost as if we exchanged glances
while it sat there
embracing its final refuge.