Snowflakes are far too myriad for any one man to catalogue,
Gauge or even guess at;
To the uncritical eye they all look the same,
But each has its own personality:
Six unique facets, untwinned with any other.

Snowflakes fall in a tempest,
Or in a brisk wind,
Or even out of a half-blue sky;
They fall rhythmically, layer upon layer,
Or spasmodically and scantily,
Like the denizens of a much younger Earth.

They exist for the duration of the winter months,
Or they are transient as a spring zephyr;
Then they are gone.

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