It snowed last night.
When the people open their blinds,
a clean surface, a blank sheet of paper,
is what they will find.

Soon, cars will run it over, and turn it black.
Some will shovel it aside, or melt it with salt.
These things never last forever, snowflakes cease to fall with a sudden halt.
But once it's gone, you'll want it back.

Soon, it will be stained many colors.
We are curious, hard-working but messy, broken, and healing children.
Unable to fall asleep after we've been tucked in under our too-warm covers.

Red and blue flashing lights
show up too well on ivory streets.
God, they're so **** bright.
It makes me sad, somewhere tonight
a bed will have cold sheets.

Rewind. Restart. No ink marks this page.
No footprints obscure the surface, fine like alabaster.  
The script has yet to set the stage,
and the weather has not yet met it's forecaster.

Mother Nature hit the refresh button,
and gifted the world a Tabula Rasa.
Use it wisely.