A tiny seed will form on the snow-capped

peak then roll - gaining momentum and size

until it lies still - waiting to be tapped

and shaped by the ice sculptor's melting eyes.

In black and white a charcoal sketch is framed

then color slopes of molten lava flow -

an icy-fiery scene of thoughts untamed

awaits creation. Some see only snow

and rug against the biting winter cold

but others feel the heat that emanates

from words unsaid and treasure it like gold

not leave the snowball's future to the fates.

From small beginnings mighty epics crawl

each snowflake is a poem, after all.

More of my Sonnets HERE