You say to the person with 60 poems in their NaPo thread.
Snowflakes (fall quietly Like ballerinas tiptoeing on the ice Their slippers searching beneath the lake's frozen surface For something lost long ago Their cold ice crystals Shimmering in the winter wind Cold hands clawing and breaking through Arms hugging the water As they slowly disappear Slowly merging into the icy waters Their unique beauty bubbling away)
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. — T.S. Eliot
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