The snows are falling today; the hardest
And most furious of sixty years past;
And I have since realized that humanity,
Civilization, and all that we value is but
A passing snowstorm, one of particular fury
And fervor, the scourge of the earth and
Maker of the heavens from whence it came.
We, like the falling, flecked, flakes are
Decidedly unique, our contrivances
Deciding, diving and plummeting into a random,
Yet unresolved, niche and then plunging further,
Into the relentless sere. And as the snows
Are begotten of the storm, which in time
Will dissipate and vanish, leaving no trace
Of its merits, so are we a transient tempest,
Impermanent and fated to fade, lost forever
To the whipping winds of time.
Any comments? Suggestions?