Crunch

Crisps formed from endless twirlings,
Each a mass of endless sterling,
Ever berling, mostly hurling, often curling, sometimes sperling
And greatly whirling to the center of Earthly burlings.
From Heavens glimmers they seem to shimmer, as if from the stars themselves
The days stands still, but fall they will, to new found homes below
Gravity, with it’s might, keeps them not ever still, but to the ground they so flow
Below, below and blow they go
On outstanding spirals, curved zigs and wide zags come the new angles to the ground below

White, clear, and bright, blue skies delight, the crimson angles sing and dance
They ride the winds pure and white, silver shades that twinkle and blaze as the ground nears in site
Shining, falling, sparkles glow, as to say, “here I go"
At last they dance that one last dance, before taking the final stance
They’ve chosen their final glide, amongst their friends they now reside
And, here I come to move them so
Why my lane-way?
Fucking snow...