The snowflake filtered through the air
Amid a myriad of peers,
Uniqueness like the fingerprint
To a discerning eye appears.
The snowflake seems so crystal clear
Floating earthward from the sky
Alighting to accumulate
In whiteness of its multiply.
The gentle beauty of its shape
So frail, a latent force alone,
Adorns the unsuspecting scape
And renders earth a monotone.
What then becomes the snowflakes' lot?
To lie there dormant till the end?
Or merge into an ornament?
Or form a missile to defend?
Perhaps a mighty avalanche
Enlists the willing dormant flake,
Or maybe it will bide till spring
Then melt and run into a lake.

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