Pinpricks in the peppermint night,
You’re poking holes in the twisty clouds.
A negative image to my sight,
Of a crystal white polka-dotted shroud.
We see you from the outside in,
Our jostling, soupy pin cushion spins.
In the day your closest blights you out,
But by night his sovereignty wanes and thins.
Sisters of the moon, you haunt the sky,
Stark and still, as pale as ghosts.
Your rigidity teases my rapid eye,
Like effervescent bubbles in a champagne toast.
Some say you’re far off, fiery, floating balls,
But I know you’re just snowflakes, simply refusing to fall.
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