Whether shaken from scalps of clouds or sewn from water and chill,
These drops of frost have allowed for thoughts frozen in me still.
Clipped in form unlike the others, these bits of ice are shaven off the sky
And fall in suit only to the current with which it flies.
Yet these spurs, however unique or golden in design
Lose their beauty in a moment’s time.
Fluttering alone, they are constructed shards of glass
But among the thousands the first is as good as the last.
Pluck one out, hold it before your face
And peer at it close to admire the shape
Watch as its sparkle sputters and fades
And melts away without a trace.
Just so, the flakes of time in a close way do fall
And I, grasping one out to admire cannot hope to see them all.