Some things are so pure
That you know God made them.

Like paper, crisp and new
And a winter's night,
Observed, warmly from inside.

Something about snow and paper,
And simple things, as such
That say so little,
And offer so much.

And on this paper, I’d like to say
That I am here today,
and I don’t have much to write,
But whatever I can offer, I give to you,
It isn't much, aside from the truth
That life resides within this flesh.

It woke me this morning, with it’s own will.

And it speaks its own words here
Commanding my body to obey and covey
What it has to say,
Which again – isn’t much
Aside from the truth, that I lived today
That on a crisp autumn morning,
With winter nearby.

And I can imagine and feel, what’s behind and ahead
And the white of night
In soft winter glow –
It eases my soul.

There are things in this life that I love,
They are mostly simple and pure
Impermanent as snow
And as blank as paper.

I see myself there.

Life, write your words over me.
For soon I will fade like snow

Into something new
And although I don’t know where I will go,
But I don’t much mind.

As long as I leave some good words behind
And melt into something life-giving.