Poetry

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SNOWFLAKES ARE CALLING,IN SLOW MOTION FALLING;WITHOUT THE WIND TO
MAKE A SOUND,ITS COLOR IS IN ITS PURITY THOUGH CANNOT BRING
SECURITY,ON PICTURE POSTCARD ITS OKAY;NOT OR WOULD WANT TO SEE IT
EVERYDAY,IT COMES AND STAYS IN SILENT WAYS;AS MISTER SNOWMAN SAYS,
WHERE I ONCE STOOD WITHOUT SNOW I WILL MELT YOU KNOW,AM FREE NOT
THERE TO SEE,YET WHEREVER THERE'S SNOW YOU MAY BUILD ME SO;PURITY
COMES FROM GOD WE KNOW WHEN IT SNOW'S AGAIN CAN BUILD ANOTHER JUST
LIKE ME,ITS NOW AMEN FROM THIS SNOWMAN'S PEN UNTIL THE SNOW COMES
AGAIN. Joe.

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