THE SNOWFLAKE

by George DeGrasse

The pale sun washed weakly through the forest,
brown leaves clinging by autumn's thread.
The familiar path spread before me when I heard
the geese fly overhead.
My face uplifted to the sky's gray light . A mystic
kinship filled my soul as I watched the ragged line
fade from sight.
Then a snowflake touched my cheek and I smiled.