Monday, September 9, 2013
Softly blows the breeze
that whispers through the trees
As snowflakes fall,
each unique shape circles around
and eventually make it to the ground
As one by one they pile atop another
As the whisper turns to a GROWL
the snowflakes dance and swirl
painting the trees and landscape a lucious white
as fast and furious as a painter's brush
using the world as his canvas ~ and he names it
(c)opyright Patricia B. 9/8/13
A Story/Poem by Peabea
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