By: EarlB , 1:41 AM GMT on January 26, 2014
The falling snowflakes came like messages from the Beloved.
They fell to us, these mysterious messengers on a Moonless night.
With the morning came the Breeze, lifting the snow, like Moths, Skyward,
Sunward toward the creator in a dance swirling without end.
Music played, the dancer spun, heart's pounded, all watched
As the Sun inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, breathing her children home.
Come dance with me, we can be Moths together,
On the Path to a forever flame.
The views of the author are his/her own and do not necessarily represent the position of The Weather Company or its parent, IBM.
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