I Love to Write

snowflakes in April’s spring
are just extra cold raindrops
like you, when you’re
extra confused

they flutter like
manic plucked feathers
dazzling fresh, green sprigs
and lie like you, when
you’re lost

and out of
place

~and as I type this
and as the flakes fall...
in the distance I hear
the faint cry of a newborn lamb
who solidifies the birth of it all ~