Snowflakes Poem by Burt Poole

Tiny snowflakes, beyond number,
each one with its own design,
falling to their destination, on
the ground, now see them shine.
As the sun reflects its glory on
the blanket, white, pristine,
nothing else in all creation
seems to be more pure or clean.
Yet, within man’s inner being
where the stain of sin had been,
lies a soul, blood-washed by Jesus,
with a new life to begin.
Now, the Son reflects His glory in
the life of one made whole,
soon the snow will melt and vanish,
not so the eternal soul.

(2/24/94)