by Mike Patrick

Created on: January 17, 2010

Blowing snow in the old school yard
Is all the snowman sees.
Empty tracks where kids once played
Fill with snow beneath the trees.

His tattered scarf whips in the wind
That drives the snowflake swarms,
But it matters not, for it protects
A neck that never warms.

One yellow mitten at his feet
Becomes a rustic good-luck charm
After it fell in disarray
From his gangly, bent-stick arm.

The hat that fit o’er his would-be ears
Never muffled the little-girl shrieks
While he portrayed the favorite spot
In games of hide and seek.

In the blowing snow of the old school yard
The lonely snowman waits
For the joyful cry of playing kids
Returning through the gates.

Learn more about this author, Mike Patrick.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.