Snow Flurry

In a day of grey and gloom,
with smoking chimney pots,
I sit by a window in a room,
lost in all my little thoughts.

Soon falls a little snow flurry.
Then two and three.
All falling in no such hurry,
among many more I see.

They say each flake is unique,
like our fingerprint.
Each flake that falls in winters bleak,
that is soon to be a tiny glint

Upon the winking snow
on roads and rooftops,
in the gentle wind blow,
and on farmland and town shops.