They keep falling...
You look at them and you would like
for them to stay up high
cause they belong
where you cannot go.

They’re like snowflakes:
white, puffy and cold,
melting at your touch,
or even at your breath.

You first thought they’re butterflies,
cause their wings were so natural,
so delicate and pure.
You dreaded the wind
and thought it’ll break them.

They can’t be birds,
for they never fly;
they simply float.
And you wonder
at their perfection.

And yet they’re falling...
Why could that be?
I like to believe
someone up there
thought they’d make a nice Christmas present.