Snow Song
That oldest of images
snowflakes falling
That oldest of melodies
snowflakes calling
In whispery voices
like regrettable choices
You're doomed to remember
this late in December.
That oldest of agonies
snowflakes crunching
Ten thousand hexagonal
skeletons munching
With no Missing Snowflakes
Bureau to trace 'em
Before brothers and cousins
float down to replace 'em.
That boldest of pleasantries
snowflakes to glide on
Fall into, tunnel through
brush off and slide on.
Sneak into your clothes
and melt on your nose,
Regain liquid motion
and return to the ocean.
Daniel M. Dobkin
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