Winter Poem

What is snow but frozen rain that melts to become rain again?

The end of James Joyce's Book, “The Dead”

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again… . It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.