The snowflakes, white and pure, they ballet in
       Like newborn thoughts that surface from within,
We would be wise to treat them tenderly -
         Just one wrong influence, they cease to be.

And we know not what will become of them.
          They wander, yet inside their havens stay.
Some find their way and rest upon firm ground,
          Too weak, a few by winds are blown away.

The boots of fate come trampling in on that
         which envy, fear and hate already taint.
They fragment those whose flawless structured mat
        have glazed themselves in nature’s silver paint.

‘Exagoni’, pristine, stay free of fear
   Though their impending fate remains unclear.
Likewise, true thoughts stay strong, preserved inside,
    Though they may be washed out by Evil’s tide.