The Snowflake


In a snowstorm, myself I once found
With the fields and the trees all white around
Dressed in black on this carpet of white
I slowly walked in the moons pale light.
As around I gazed at this world of charm
A Single snowflake landed on my arm
I looked at it closely, saw how it was set,
As slowly it melted in the heat of my breath
Now melted, about it I said in half jest,
Like the wine at Caana, the last was the best
Is it not wonderful how by nature we’re deceived
Each looks like the other, yet each uniquely weaved!
One in a million, none with a name..
All different, peculiar, and yet: so much the same!

This poem in Bulgarian ! French

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