Wax Poetic

Winter

10 February, 2011 (12:00) | Wax Poetic

White fields where three white-tailed deer trot,
And the snow covered branches of 2 trees that used to hold a cot.
How can so much liveliness cease to make a sound?
How can the snow flake silently touch the ground?

The country house door flies open as 2 bundles of youthful life run out.
With red cotton jackets, and mittens and caps that Mother yarned together.
The giggles of the children, and the joy of the scene of snow all about,
Breaks the almost eerie silence, as a snow flake touched the ground like a feather.

After a snowman is constructed, and a few hand-packed snowballs thrown,
The laughter stops as Mother brings out a thermos of warm hot-chocolate, out of their warm country home.
Sitting on the top step of the house porch, they lift mugs to almost lip-height,
And slowly sip away because when it is just a little too hot, it is just right.

The red in their cheeks match their new red jackets that keep them warm.
Mother knows that it is time to come back inside, and sit by the fire,
And once toes are unfroze, they will sit by the window and watch their snowman deform,
Fluffier, puffier, fatter and higher.

As night falls, the snow flakes still never stop falling.
And by morning, a new white covered field will be calling.
Calling to the young children who haven’t heard the sound,
The sound a snowflake makes, when it gently touches the ground.

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