Poetry

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Winter’s growing old,
Snowman’s heart is cold.
Breezy wind’s a-bumpin’,
Icy heart is thumpin’.

Turn another morrow,
Hollowing a furrow,
Winter wind is sawing,
Snowman’s heart is thawing.

Whistling through the trees,
Brings Snowmen to their knees,
And taking on the pain,
Touching every stain.

Just before he fades,
To all that God has made,
Closer to the ground,
Humbled, he bows down.

Sinks into the clay,
Spends his final day,
And in his closing hour,
Nourishes a flower.

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