Pieces of hard water are falling from above,
They fill the emptiness of what we call the sky
With their strange yet stunning geometrical shapes,
‘Tis quite hard to see in this white obscurity,
As slow inverted steam settles down in layers.
It doesn’t make a sound and fits air like a glove,
It’s white and light and frail, and cold and wet and dry,
I wanted this so bad, it all seems like a dream,
Like the world itself is answering my prayers,
Drowning all my senses in this rare purity.