It takes me back to a boy;

the falling of snow

To a fluffy, white street

under a streetlight's dull glow:

 

Where an old man trudges through

Each foot now a plough

Eyes squinting to see

The here and the now

 

I watch from a window

My youthful eyes wide

Thinking: move to the road

Then you can slide!

 

But he carries on trudging

As I shake my young head

Must be 'stuck in his ways'

As Mam always said

 

I look up to the sky

To the white falling stars

that rest upon rooves

of houses and cars,

 

and upon the old man

Who lies still in the snow

I giggle and shout,

'Get up you old crow!'

 

But he lies there unmoving

No breath to be seen

A silhouette against white

In this strange snowglobe scene

 

And the snow makes a blanket

For him to be warm

But soon there is nothing

No sign of human form

 

I want to go tell

But, find myself still

As a little, snowy robin

Lands upon my windowsill

 

It shakes free from snow

and chirps a little song

Then flies into the falling stars

And, in a breath, is gone

 

My eyes then wander down

Back to the snowy mound below

Where another trudges through

Revealing only snow...

 

 

I've never slept so soundly

Like I did that Christmas night

And when I woke, next morning

There were new, and wondrous sights!