Monday, January 19, 2009

Like Snow

Falling through and careless
still I am what's been intended,
drifting on the wind and gone
not storied or pretended.
Meant to be the symphony
the dance on which I'm turning,
softly play my cares away
spin slow each moment learning.
If nothing more than falling for
this task I take to pleasure,
the moments from the sky
imply the gift we're meant to treasure.
Not gold nor wealth or richer self
come close to heights to climb,
be true to you if not then who
fall slow like snow take time.

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