They Keep Coming

they keep coming

the fernlike stellar dendrites

the hexagonal prisms of ice

we call snowflakes

no two just like the other

how quaint

clinging

to branches

and fence posts

during the storm

indivisible

afterwards swept away by the wind

or simply melted by the sun

no sooner gone than replaced by the flakes

churned up by the next gale

sweeping over the countryside

like the bluster of an autocrat

blanketing the world

in an undiscerning white

for a moment

changing the color

of everything