The last, delicate snowflakes lingering in the air,
waiting to be gobbled up.
Billowing, writhing swirls of breath
Crunchy, dirty slush,
hiding in discreet clumps.
Wistfully remembering winter storms.
Spring is a rumor
that I don’t believe
It’s a conspiracy theory
with just not enough facts to back it up.
We’re in a lull from school canceling snowstorms,
but I haven’t checked the weather for tomorrow.
It could all be a trick,
this warmy stuff.
Everything comes in threes.
Speakers make three points to support their assertion
Fairy Tales are full of images and characters of three
There are three branches of government
Men have three testicles
There are three genders
And we have three eyes
Three seasons: winter, mud & summer
Winter never closes its eyes completely, you know –
It’s always ready to spring back into action.
Because the other two are just there to make the first possible
One by itself has no context or meaning
So we have three of everything.
There are three of me
But I’m the important one to whom you should pay attention.
Here are some more poemy-things:
“elegant Snowflake,” from capadia design