Slow Snow
A poem by Michael Hawkes
If one has fallen as slowly as snow flakes
From the height of a lowering cloud
To land on a pillow of soft fluffy mates
One feels glad to be back in the crowd.
Unbruised, unblemished and still a fine crystal,
At rest among others as equally proud,
One hopes to be drifted, fused, frozen solid,
Un-snow-blown or peed on and ploughed.
Until, come the spring, one melts in a pool
And joins with ones’ friends in the flow,
Energetic, aerated, and still kinda’ cool
But missing the slowness of snow.
* * * * *
If lucky you’ll be one of those who rises wraith-like
From a lake into the sky;
Up to where a high wind blows
To move the cumuli.
Where molecule to molecule clings for heaven’s sake
Until it’s cool enough again
To start falling as a drop of rain
Then metamorphose as a flake.
22/12/21 – Hawkes
Feature image: Egor Kamelev from Pexels
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[/col][col size=”10″]Michael Hawkes was a cherished poet and contributor whose work enriched the pages of WestmountMag.ca with its sensitivity and depth. Over the years, he entrusted us with a rich body of poems, of which only a portion has yet been published. His passing leaves a profound void, but the poems still to come will continue inspire all who were moved by his voice.[/col][/row]