We stood on the wood bridge
over old Shoal Creek when
you reached up and shook
a handful of snowflakes
out of the white winter stars.
Just a handful,
just a few cold crystals
that tumbled down into the lazy
loping water of old Shoal Creek.
As we watched them come down,
I grabbed your magic hand
and held it until those falling
flakes were swallowed up
and swept downstream,
thinking you were as rare
as an Alabama snowfall
and I needed to hold your hand
to keep you from disappearing
just as quick.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
We stood on the wood bridge
over old Shoal Creek when
you reached up and shook
a handful of snowflakes
out of the white winter stars.
Just a handful,
just a few cold crystals
that tumbled down into the lazy
loping water of old Shoal Creek.
As we watched them come down,
I grabbed your magic hand
and held it until those falling
flakes were swallowed up
and swept downstream,
thinking you were as rare
as an Alabama snowfall
and I needed to hold your hand
to keep you from disappearing
just as quick.
This poem and others can be read on the author's website, http://gabrielgadfly.com.
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