The first snowflake is always the loneliest. Shivering, the crystal has no choice but to fall. Ages pass; the flake still falls. It yearns; the moon wails. No one follows. Its bearded parent watches, hopeful.

The paternal cloud sheds further, Some to accompany the lone traveler. If not to at least block the bitter wind. The cold, dark air persists. Some of the crystals perish, They got too close; too hot. Disgraceful; the lone flake succeeds— But snow already blankets the ground.