Sun, clouds, wind, and the turning Earth,
present a brown backdrop.
Winged seeds ask:
“When will the feathery soft snow touch
my cheek?
my eyelashes?
When will a snowflake
taste the tongue.
and be shifted by the wind,
be inhaled by my breath,
and melted within?”
Well, I’ll admit,
An answer hasn’t come to me,
At least, not yet!
Anna K Gilman© 11/16/2021
