Flakes

Snow falls on the ground

In little small specs;

You can't see each of them from far away,

And yet most would say they are perfect.

The flakes fall,

At a uniformed rate,

To their chosen spot below the clouds.

I wonder if they come

From the same place,

Being different yet the same.

The shape is the same,

Yet the size is different.

No! Not even close.

They're different yet the same,

I tell you.

Different yet the same.