Colin F. Jones

SNOWMAN

His eyes were polished brook stones,
From the stream where we swam,
The snow packed firm to form his bones,
Smoothed to a loving plan.

He only lived a few short weeks,
Yet his memory never dies,
It seems it’s in my heart he speaks,
When dullness clouds my skies.

It seems more precious are our thoughts,
Of that which does not last,
When life and death and love consorts,
To return us to the past.

Oh we were young and happy then,
When the snowman was a friend,
When I was nine just shy of ten,
When it was good to just pretend.

He did not in my mind just thaw,
Just melt away and die,
For though it seems he is no more,
I still laugh with him and cry.

Thank you God for winter snow,
For the building bricks of life,
For you and I… Well, we both know,
A single snowflake is alive.