The Flake Of Snow Poem by Yancy Yates

had a thought, just before the sun set down,
the trees against the orange shroud,
a breeze whispers goodnight,
there's a place, right beside an icy stream
I'd lay down in grass and dream,
of where I'd be today

stare at the wall, and watch the movie in my head,
frame by frame, each path I tread,
I always end up here,
look away, but I can't turn this damn thing off,
all the stains that can't be washed,
till my final day

the flake of snow, that brings the oak tree down,
and follows you around, from town to town to town
waking up, to my same ole face,
another bowl of grace,
watch the humans race