Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare
A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where
The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes
Returns him such a God-forsaken stare
As outcast Adam gave to paradise.
The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,
Having no wish to go inside and die.
Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.
Though frozen water is his element,
He melts enough to drop from one soft eye
A trickle of the purest rain, a tear
For the child at the bright pane surrounded by
Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.
Every chid feels the joy of seeing a snowman outside. A child feels proud that they made it and don't want to see it melt. This poem reminded me of the old days where I would be home on snow-days. It reminded me of the times where I built a snowman and felt like it was a real person. I wanted it to play with me, yet I realized he was fake and would melt, which sometimes bring tears to my eyes.
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