The Soft Nighttime Snow

The Soft Nighttime Snow

Little puffs of white fall through the air,
The only white on the black canvas of the nighttime sky.

They are radiant as they drift down slowly,
With no wind to stop them.

They are different,
Each and every one,
Formed in His hands,
Special.

For one last split second,
They hover above the ground,
Before drifting into the crowd,
Forming together with the rest,
Leaving their individuality behind.

The Moon weeps for them,
Her tears turning to ice,
To drift down and join,
The group of snow below.