the dying snows

yesterday morning the newly-fallen flakes
lay large and lacy atop the earlier shroud of snow
and the rising sun caught and held them in its gaze
rays reflecting off each individual facet
and setting them on fire

today the winter’s bitter chill was broken
and a steady stream of snowmelt poured through the downspouts
while on the eaves the icicles sparkled
as they dripped, dripped, dripped down the rooftop
and into oblivion

tomorrow, no one will remember them
but in the spring
from soil well-watered
by the dying snows
flowers will bloom