Graphic by Billie.
Fog Flowers
I like to call them Fog Flowers, those tiny crystals of rain.
They carpet the world in silence, they glorify dirt in the lane.
There seems all a hush to their presence, the softest tinkle of sound,
And even the animals quiet, as a blanket descends on the town.
Some look upon it as frigid, but warming and soft is the throw,
The flowers asleep in the garden, will snuggle and smile under snow.
“But it makes the road too slippery!” I hear the complaints starting now.
As it furrows and windblows and softens, the marks that were left by the plow.
You seem to not understand it, this miracle silently wrought.
For where will you go now to find it, when this is what you have sought?
A promise of hope from your Father, a gentle reminder of love,
Each entity fallen from Heaven, is getting a kiss from above.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . December 5, 2004
© 2004