• The snowflakes fall
    As tiny crystals.
    Each shape individual
    As a fingerprint.
    Twisting,
    Turning,
    With grace a Prima Ballerina wishes
    She could have.
    They spiral,
    Dancing,
    Each in sync with another
    As they complete their journey down.
    And as they fall on my cheeks,
    My eyelashes,
    My nose,
    They form droplets,
    The tears I shed
    For the now forgotten,
    Ever beautiful,
    Ever graceful,
    Prima Ballerinas.