Snowflakes

by Robert V. Moore

 

I think that if love had physical form, it would be a snowflake.

Delicate - fragile, intricate in it's beautiful facets and designs of involved personalities.

Textured with exquisite lines of happiness, filled with voids of sorrow.

Each segment indivisible from the total beauty of the whole.

For as each snowflake is different from every other, each love has it's own, unique, pattern.

Neither may be held too tightly, lest it be crushed.

Both will last only in climates of their own.

Or, each will gently change to a sparkling drop of memories as it dissipates in the heat of changing seasons.

Love accomanies a ravaging sensual storm, yet falls softly to the outstretched fingertips

of a sensitive person that can recognize it.

There are those that would curse the snow, they would quickly shake the snow off lest they be harmed.

They would not recognize a snowflake.

There are those who would run carelessly through the falling snow, catching all they are able.

They see only the snow.

There are those who walk joyfully, with uplifted faces through the sparkling snowfall,

but would appreciate the astounding beauty of a single snowflake as they turn it this way and that,

inspecting in wonderment it's elaborate, changing beauty to the end of their days.

 

By Robert V. Moore