How they fall.
How they melt when winter comes and the ground it hits.
Slow, soft as it comes to cover all.
The gentle blanket lays; frozen in silence and every shape it fits.
Cold it seems, but warm it is, mistook for a depressed object, but passion and love it holds.
Just let it fall and its mystery will unfold.
White rain, the deaf sign.
A new scenery it brings to the land.
Beautiful; always cold, but fine.
Fragile, as it disappears in your hand.
Rain drops that have chilled and the symbols it holds for inner spirit.
Every flake is different and to know their difference is to understand virtue and have merit.
How feathery and fragile they are.
How lament their descend.
What a blizzard it was, when I became.
How a blizzard it may be when I fall and lay with them free of this world's pain.