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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1508535
(In the style of Billy Collins)
And I am greeted with the
welcomed sight of
falling snowflakes.
I wonder how it is that these
perfect flakes came to fall in
my yard of all places.

I think of the snowy conference
that occurred in the mass of clouds
which has temporarily
nested overhead,
How these thousands of flakes
were assigned to fall over the quaint
white house on the cul-de-sac.

I am reminded of the ancestors of
these snowflakes, those flakes
which accompanied me as I frolicked
on that very lawn as a child.
How they'd gently descend upon
my eyelashes as I stared
into the silver sky.

But now I stare into my cup and am left
with memories and the chalky remnants
of cocoa that once was.
© Copyright 2008 Stanley P. Faltz (edgarsalinger at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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