Little purple flake
drifting southwest, to a junction
underneath yellow fenestrations
Gliding its soul function, to its
destination
and
I'll watch it fall, its a grand thing
all the world so quiet, everybody tucked in
no one's there to notice
all of it, happening, till it aggregates
So
Little snow bank, can you explain,
what you're doing out this late?
Tell me plain
do you love these lonely things?
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