Snowfall
As the flakes come down they are dry.
They land where they fall. Did they intend
On reaching the ground, did they want
To drift with their fellow flakes?
Some don’t make it, and end
Up, temporarily, on a branch with
Others, waylaid coming down.
They are the outliers and delay
Their spectacular drop for another
Day when the wind or the sun
Moves them suddenly and beautifully
Off their perch and back into the air.
As the flakes come down they are dry.
They land where they fall. Did they intend
On reaching the ground, did they want
To drift with their fellow flakes?
Some don’t make it, and end
Up, temporarily, on a branch with
Others, waylaid coming down.
They are the outliers and delay
Their spectacular drop for another
Day when the wind or the sun
Moves them suddenly and beautifully
Off their perch and back into the air.
---- Big Frank Dickinson
2 comments:
Or, as I've experienced lately,
"Off their perch and into my hair"
Lovely poem, gorgeous photo. Did you take it?
Thanks! Well - there's no predicting the outcome of that next drop, is there?
No - the photo's not mine.
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