Just flowers in the snow;
    Conceived to joy, and born to grow,
    To lives that ever few will know
    We live, we love, we come, we go,
    Just flowers in the snow.

A boy was born to parents poor,
He always dreamed of flying;
With paper, and with balsa wood,
Surroundings bad but moments good,
To his long-dream applying:
His parents wanted something more
For him: to conquer and to soar,
And so they did whate’er they could
His wish solidifying.
And when, at last, he took the skies
His life, their love, shone in their eyes
That no one now remembers, long ago —

    Just flowers in the snow;
    Conceived to joy, and born to grow,
    To lives that ever few will know
    We live, we love, we come, we go,
    Just flowers in the snow.

A girl grown old, with hair of white,
Once had a dream of nursing —
To minister to those in need:
The sick, or those who ache, or bleed,
A painful time traversing —
She fought a now-forgotten fight
To get the chance, and have the right
To educate her mind, and feed
On books, in labs immersing.
To finally wear the cap and gown
And work all hours, up/downtown,
To reach that portico —

    Just flowers in the snow;
    Conceived to joy, and born to grow,
    To lives that ever few will know
    We live, we love, we come, we go,
    Just flowers in the snow.

    Just flowers in the snow;
    Old people, who we barely know,
    Whose hearts still hold a flick’ring glow;
    We pass, indifferent, even so,
    To wonder, one day, as we go
    At flowers
    In the snow