Pure

A poem I wrote after it snowed. (Kind of an old poem)

Beautiful snow,
Pure soul,
that makes people wonder
how they could wander through
Angel's tears
Devil's fears
and the way they fall down
white and small, gently and slow
Open your palms,
discover a new kind of beauty
as it lands elegantly on your warm body,
laughing and jumping as it dances
They soar from above,
They sail up high,
they're everywhere,
just open your eyes
Slowly and happily,
they wave goodbye to you
saying millions things aloud
without words or sound
One by one, hand in hand,
their small souls leaving,
and all that left was their tears,
still shining and wet on your opened palms