A smile filled with glee.
A young boy holds his hands out,
Waiting for the snow to land.
Delicately,
Like helicopters,
They land on his long, golden hair.
He spins around
In powdered snow.
Looking up into the beauty.
Of white and flaky.
Dusts of snow.
He runs his hands through his hair.
Collecting the wet droplets,
That were once snow.
The voice of his mother calls him insude.
And with a tear,
Says farewell to the snow.
-Bill Shakez
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