I clearly remember writing this one. Sometimes it's so hard to get out what I want to say. It's even harder now, after a long time of not writing like this.
I'm also a singer, so I tend to think in terms of music or song about things like this as well.
Composition
A melody floats on the
air,
for a moment,
each drop, suspended,
frozen.
Every note delicately formed,
intricately placed.
I reach out,
wanting to touch,
just one.
A child chasing snowflakes.
It eludes me,
slips through my fingers,
melts away from me.
Ideas appear,
to fall,
then fade away,
as tears of dreams,
unrealized.
Copyright, March, 1990.
Cathy Newberry.
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