Snowflakes Unique interlaced, straight-laced, whatever laced individual ideas Floating in a atmosphere of drifting winds and cold glares Passing through the Northern Corridor As nutmeg hot chocolate is passed around the small hall this eve Downy feathery coats, thick knobby woolen scarves, and pairs of gloves dressing the chairs Talk is fast and sporadic around the granite fireplace
"A Busy Clerk" Sometimes the ancient minstrels play loudly on the eve of a full moon Their harps of delicate cowhide, dark oak, and Eurasian silk Singing sweetly in the mid-winter wind Frost clinging to their dirt stained boots lined with the thickest furs of the Northern Kingdoms I listen from my dusty chamber Thick books of last December's taxes and dust of a decade surround My thin cloak of cotton, no lining due to my empty purse But I hear their engaging tune As I whisper a farewell to my books of work and all Out the window to their sound my heart goes As I dream of ancient pasts and courageous Kings, and Knights of silver Sleeping with my head upon my cedar desk Dreams spinning in my snores I sleep and awaken in a morning of fog My books and forms covered with frost As my open window that never closed And no moon to hear my cry For my deadline has arrived!
Snowflakes
