Birch-seeds

They are flying through the air like rain
They get stuck in animal's mane
They are smaller than a fly
And everywhere they lie
On the ground thick like sand
You can take them in your hand
But don't start to count
It is endless their amount
You can sweep them away
Always and every day
They come through the door
They lie on the floor
They fall in your soup and tea
They are everywhere you will see
From the birch tree they are sent
In a circle that never end.