Long count the days
since last beheld.
We were young, so young.
Blush upon us both,
eyes agleam,
breath as steam.
In fun I'd hold her close,
a squirming squealing bundle
wrapped all in wool.
She'd push her snowy mittens
into my face.
I'd let her go, I would,
grinning grinning,
the both of us.
We had a saucer and a sled.
I'd pull and pull her,
swishing through the snow
whipping round and round,
streams and streams of
glitt'ry icy flakes
showering all around,
melting on our cheeks,
sprinkling in our eyes.
If snow were deep, I'd leap,
arms way outstretched,
soaring from our porch,
to flop down belly first
in soft thick snow,
stinging cold
flush upon my face.
She'd watch and wish to follow,
but then think "no".
Deciding then to jump feet first,
she'd land waist deep, a thrill.
But then a fearful scowl,
realizing now
she's stuck so stuck in snow.
To the rescue I would crawl,
grab her mittened hands and pull.
Her face would brighten, ah.
But then the tears would well.
Her boots had filled with snow.
Her socks squished wet,
her ankles ached with numb.
Poor thing. Poor thing.
Teasing now, I'd roll her in the snow,
trying best to cheer her.
In part it worked.
Her eyes would twinkle.
She'd start to giggle.
But then discomfort won
and off she'd trudge,
all caked in snow,
stomping up the stairs
seeking soothing Mommy's help.
Poor thing. Poor thing.
I tried. I did,
but only mothers know.
And so I'd turn to ponder
wonders in our yard,
so cold and clear and still.
No giggles could I hear,
only gently dripping pointed ice,
and soft soft little thuds.
Clumps of snow in plunge,
from harsh black branches high,
twirled twirled down
to thump in thick white snow.
So brief impressions that we leave.
Even vivid ones do fade.
Taste oh taste cold melting
on your tongue
and hug hug ever tightly
one's with whom we share
such great great
vivid fun.
|
Sunday, January 5th, 2014
Sawyer
MI
USA
|
