My Snowflake

The snow comes down.

I am in the window watching,

as the kind green grass starts to drown.



It sits there, not a hint of surprise.

Not being able to move,

from a beautiful disguise.



The intricate flake works its magic.

Gets you to trust its landing,

then does something tragic.



The innocent meadow goes from green to brown.

It loses its vibrant color,

and now is permanently down.



I am the innocent meadow,

and you are my snowflake.