Snow

The chill is in the air,
with a winter glow,
Frost bitten fingers,
As we rolled out the snow,

Our shoes were all wet,
from the slush puppy fair,
Toes burning red,
as we all played there,

The snow man just stands there,
with a grin on his face,
As they ran in to the house,
With a stinging red nose and face,

As we slide down the hill,
with plastic bags and bum,
Slipping and sliding,
total fun,

Fingers are numb,
Toes are to,
Itching and burning,
what can you do?
You sit by the fire,
trying to keep warm to,
Tending the bruises,
as you do.






Copyright © 2011 John Bevan