Simple can be complex,
And complex might be so simple.
Small things can turn into large.
And large can turn into rubble.
The pure snowflake falls,
Born from the kingdom of all.
Fresh, frozen, flawless and just,
It’s journey is full of corruption and dust.
And As it falls it’s next to another,
Some attract and fall together.
Others keep their solo decent,
Gets close to others but alone as of present.
Their directions alter with a single gust,
Destination unknown can only trust.
Ground, tree, north or south,
Into a puddle or a thirsty mouth.
Once they land they can collect,
Ground, tree, back of an insect.
Mound the ground or line a branch,
Can form an igloo or an avalanche.
Different paths all lead to the slaughter,
As they melt and turn back into water.
33 and a Third 