Wednesday, 2 March 2016

Story #190 - Snowball (poem)

along with winter,
comes once a year.

Depends on
where you live,
how you live,
and who you live it with.

And the day
when the whiteness
sheds its skin
on the gravel, dirt,
metal, and rubber
is a day of distinct emotion.

You will feel sad,
but remember that
you were glad
when you were a kid.
And wonder what the
heck happened.

You decide to relive
those carefree years
and go outside
with galoshes on.

There's just enough
to make a small snowball;
if you had a cone,
it would fit nicely.

As you handle the fuzz gently,
you try it with all your might,
only it doesn't land.
it simply vanishes,
like it never existed.

"Was there ever a point B?"
You say to yourself.

No comments:

Post a Comment