The Snowman
written by: James Gabriel
@James_Gabriel1
A late winter morning.
The old man looked out the window,
snow resting on the ground,
pale and soft like a woman’s skin.
He made no note of the time it took to build
the snowman.
When finished, he was filled with a feeling of accomplishment.
Rocks as eyes.
Branches as arms.
A plaid scarf.
An old green hunting cap.
He pulled a blue and white lawn chair from the garage and
set it out
in the clearing.
The old man sat, hours passed,
watching the snowman.
The sky clear and
the sun bright.
When I die, he pondered,
the rivers will flow on.
The tress will grow.
Monuments of man and nature will stand immovable, a testament to permanence.
But you, Snowman.
I beat you.
The old man put his hands to his mouth and blew his hot breath
keeping the numbness at bay.
He lets his hands rest there
hiding his smile.
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