The Snowman
"Our snowman will be beautiful," we say,
Forgetting we're too old to be so happy.
Our bodies made bulky by heavy winter coats,
We grin like children, giddy with the cold.
Our frozen fingers clumsy, we mold him,
Sculpt him out of fresh, white snow,
Until that moment when the body is so cold
You can't imagine ever being warm again.
Hot chocolate sounds so inviting.
"We'll finish him tomorrow," we promise
And hurry inside.
But there are some things I don't understand,
Like love and war and weather.
And tomorrow, a warm front moves in--
From one of the sultry southern places
We planned to visit on our honeymoon.
Moves in, moves out,
Taking our snowman with it
And leaving us a puddle
Of good intentions.
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