Winter

The gentle dance of the snowflake as it drifts in the wind

Mimics the fanciful dreams of the sleeper.

A collection of small, meaningless knick-knacks

Arranged on the bookshelf with more rhyme than reason

Sits next to tomes and volumes filled with more prose than passion.

The grooves of the floorboards gather and assemble dust

Into coherent columns to be swept away.

Somewhere overhead a cloud swelled with gray

Pulls back the curtain to let us watch

The pas-de-deux of snow.

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This entry was posted in Poetry by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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