One Begotten

Once I saw nesting
like fine woven glass
low on a pine bough
in a cradle of green

a tiny perfection,
unique as each man,
a crystalline symmetry
formed by the hand

of a masterful artist
whose invisible brush
had seemingly swept
with a mystical gust

and a magical breath
clear across the blue lake
whose mellifluous heart
formed each lonesome snowflake.