The SnowmanThere
I can see
An icy figure
Short and plump
Is standing, brooding
Alone, proud and pleased
His coaly eyes wink at me
His carrot nose stiff in the air
His cold cruel gaze upon me
Threatening me with harsh
Freezing breezes of his
Lungs, his hands
Cannot be seen
May be in his
Hidden pockets,
Devising some evil
Malicious scheme to grab
My fragile soul, vulnerable as
A delicate rose in tornado’s embrace
I cannot see its feet, perhaps hidden in the
Earth, digging a trap or a hole to bury my flesh
Now bereft of breath, or pounding the snow beneath
Reminding me of the fleeting moments which pass by
To bring that dreadful scene, hailing me with the icy
Arrows, wound me with frozen spears, crucify me
On the snowy cross, and I, deafened by creepy
Howling of wolfish fluffy flakes, burning
With the faintest flames of desire for life,
Take the dying torch and rush to see
The last drops of the melting snowman