The Hollow

Scott Whitby, 2023

I sit atop a hollow,

then it snows.  Falling the only sound

Flakes reach out as they pass,

suspended, dreading the coming ground

Finally they rest at gravity's end

Some melt, others hold true

One may remain a crystal

The other only dew

              (I'm suspended too)

Sitting atop this hollow

I have my own dread

That I'll be a melted snowflake

and not a crystal instead