Back when the snow came down in sheets

Back when the snow came down in sheets, 
To bury deep the frightened streets, 
And shook the spine of every tree 
All over this suburban sea, 
The air was cold, the wind did pound, 
And winter’s white was all around, 

The snow which filled some kids with glee 
Was packed into the shape of me. 
With rocks for eyes, a hat for style; 
Of course, the snowman’s jolly smile. 
And mighty sticks that I might wave. 
And grass for hair (I’d rather shave). 

With no agenda to complete, 
But giving folks a jolly greet, 
I found myself consumed in thought, 
Of all that is and all that’s not. 
Because I think... I know I’m here. 
But why not ‘til just this past year? 

Oh Dear! Are all those rumors true? 
That snow gives way to morning dew? 
And what, then, shall become of me? 
I suppose that I’ll atrophy 
And flow down through the dirty street 
In slush where spring and winter meet. 

Well damn the hands that made this place! 
That made this joy to build disgrace. 
And made… Oh my, that breeze feels nice. 
It gently cools my melting ice. 
Which just prolongs my certain doom. 
Like life had teased me in my tomb. 

And damn the sun’s agnostic glow. 
Could melt me quick, but chooses slow. 
I strain to raise a sagging eye, 
To kindly ask a passer-by, 
“Pray tell me what the temp is, please.” 
“Why yes, it’s thirty-three degrees.”


poem about snowmen in the spring

  • CATEGORY: creativity and related futility

  • 03-06-2013

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