Snow Flake Poem by William Coyne

Snowflakes endure shorter lives than we,
but their own frequent interruptions
to their bliss are just as much an abyss,
that claims its part as much as our own.
They are born to pass as much as we.

Wind hurls them to the bark and breaks fragile
crystal limbs to glitter separate;
Small wings wedge into a creviced cliff,
and sparkle on the mountain side,
until the sun warms them and they die.

Charmingly, we look to come and go,
not always leaving willingly,
not always leaving whole.