(A poem in free verse)
Where are the snow women? The snow children?
Here truly, the children are fathers of the men.
But wait!
Those snow men look a little forlorn out there.
I salute thee, Frosty, for being so sanguine about your inevitable demise.
Out, out, brief candle!
The snowman is a tale told by an idiot to a madman, both shivering.
In the end all is slush!
And then, what will be left of you?
Some bits of coal, a carrot, a corncob pipe, a soggy hat and scarf and maybe some old tree twigs.
Your mind will be the first to go, of course.
And cool heads will prevail,
But only to the next thaw.
But even if it stays cold the wind will suck the life out of you.
So, as your head sinks below your shoulders, keep smiling!
Even as you fwump for the last time.
