A beautiful, evocative, glimpse of our ephemeral lives , linked to the image of transient flowers in the snow.
Just flowers in the snow;
Conceived to joy, and born to grow,
To lives that ever few will know
We live, we love, we come, we go,
Just flowers in the snow.
A boy was born to parents poor,
He always dreamed of flying;
With paper, and with balsa wood,
Surroundings bad but moments good,
To his long-dream applying:
His parents wanted something more
For him: to conquer and to soar,
And so they did whate’er they could
His wish solidifying.
And when, at last, he took the skies
His life, their love, shone in their eyes
That no one now remembers, long ago —
Just flowers in the snow;
Conceived to joy, and born to grow,
To lives that ever few will know
We live, we love, we come, we go,
Just flowers in the snow.
A girl grown old, with hair of white,
Once had a dream of…
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Beautiful Peter. Thankyou.
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Thanks for sharing. It says how little we know of generations past.
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