A snap can’t catch them
but the eye can see drips falling
from snow melting on the eaves
of this Alpine train station,
caught like dancing dust motes
in the slant of afternoon sun.
Poetry by George Lang
A snap can’t catch them
but the eye can see drips falling
from snow melting on the eaves
of this Alpine train station,
caught like dancing dust motes
in the slant of afternoon sun.