Tag: postaweek

I

A slight chill graces the air
As the leaves of fall mingle and fly away
Riding the mischievous wind.
Showers of white slowly appear
And the air is now wispy, cloudy
As the sleet covers
The previously grassy lawn
In a blanket of sparkling frost.
A little child, bedecked in wool
And armed with mittens, and determination
To craft, nay sculpt,
Something in her own likeness;
A mother at such a young age.
Her tiny hands get to work
Scooping and molding,
Setting and resetting
Fixing and rebuilding.
And thus I am born
Where there was previously naught;
A product of frozen vapor
And the love of my creator.

II

The season grows
I get bigger, and so grows my mother
She clothes me in rags
And old buttons
As if I needed protection
From my very element.
Oh, and did I mention
That atop me
She placed an old top hat that brings
A kind of class to a frozen relic.
I stand in the yard, with a charcoal smile
Below a carrot nose,
Slightly slunk
And with two shrunk hands
Holding my clothing
Around my rotund belly;
I feel quite ready to go to the prom.

III

Months go by, I stand in wait
And I look at the joy
This world has to offer
Kids playing in the snow
A lover’s quarrel,
They kiss and make up
In the dim light of the moon
And the sparkle in her eyes
Says she knows it all.
I know no hurt, no pain
As the neighbor’s dog
Goes around its business
In my wake,
Whose curiosity never killed a cat
But it sure tickled a snowman.

IV

The air is warm with the spring in step
And the leaves begin to sprout
On the bare backs of barren trees.
I know what this means for me
My time has come.
My time has come, to go back
To where I started from
My home in the sky
A watery mist
I see my mother for one last time,
As she sees her son melting away,
The water from my mortal body
Transferred into a teary glint in her eyes.
I will leave behind my mortal remains,
My top hat, rags, charcoal smile
A whole host of memories;
As I fade away, a product of frozen vapor
And the tears in my mother’s eyes.