Cutting his losses, the Sun quits the fight
As his silvery glow soon gives way to black Night.
Mercury sinks to his bulb and hides there
And wintery Cold, now, her triumph declares.
Yet born of the harshness of this icy void,
Like debris from the death of some meteoroid,
The delicate crystals drift down from the Sky
Though she’s no longer seen by the sensitive eye.
The tentative Snowflakes send down a few scouts
Then an increasing flood as if pouring from spouts.
They all look the same but, on examination,
Are each one unique and a fine revelation.
Though we complain, we seem drawn to the Snow,
Maybe, deep down, it’s because we all know
That outward appearance is pleasant enough,
But oftentimes that can be merely a bluff.
4 June 2016
A strange place to be thinking about snow!