What is more ephemeral than snow,
made up of fractal hexagons of ice
that cling a little while and then let go?

I wake to hear the midnight rain, and know
the drifts will all be melted when I rise,
for what is more ephemeral than snow?

A thunderstorm moves off and leaves a bow
of colors cutting through the rainy skies
to stay a little while, and then let go.

A soap and water bubble may be so
short-lived that no-one gets to see it twice,
yet scarcely more ephemeral than snow.

In spring the caterpillars hatch and grow
to metamorphose into butterflies
who cling a little while, and then let go.

I go to God to ask this question, though
I know too well what He always replies:
that we are more ephemeral than snow—
we cling a little while, and then let go.

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