a rushed, half-assed winter themed poem that no one asked for

; snowflake. 

love, 
love is a tale
of melancholy
of a tune blue 
and broken
and true
of which it's beauty
is delicate and unmatched
silent as the winter's whisper
loud as the avalanche's anger
steps, 
they echo through the quiet
of a million snowflakes 
crunching under leather
and she wonders:
how many flames
of love
have suffered the same fate? 
when love
once red and wild and burning
turn into a deep ocean
of cerulean demise, 
turn into a pillar
of snowflakes
majestic and swift
the glory of it's uniqueness
short-lived
but beautiful in every way; 
how many flames
of passion
had encountered the same doom
as the snowflakes that shattered
under her weight? 
yet i tell you, 
even the sun, 
in all it's wonder
dies
every living day
to let the moon rise
at night
and yet i tell you, 
no two days are alike
yet the sun 
still shines in each
and the moon 
still governs
at night
fret not, my love
for the sun 
will shine tomorrow
a new snowflake will come
still beautiful 
still unique in it's being
come, 
let us keep ours in a jar
and quench with it
our thirst
when summer arrives.