Snowflake
Brian Hiortdahl
The snowflake
floated softly down to light
disastrously upon
my palm, too warm to hold its intricate, unrivaled form,
and so began its dance with death:
soft white exploding into a colorless clear,
shimmering drops erelong to
disappear
from the sight of all eyes save God's alone. This flake was a miracle history
will see
only once, and the mystery of
its pattern will never here be known. I
know only that dying in my sight
it was as lovely as aloft the breeze, and I pray in my own
death that I might
please my God's eyes as well as
does my flight.
|
