O! how the heavens have forgotten to engage me.
It’s been so long since we’ve cried. I remember,
Sitting by the windowsill as a child,
And my sun-starved eyes would echo
Those dusty white flakes in all their splendour, as they lazily tumbled down,
Softly blanketing the ground.

And my mother would sternly warn me; ‘Don’t watch or it will stop!
‘And your snowman will be a puddle, out upon the crop.’

I struggled to tear my eyes away; I strived. I really tried.
But maybe I gazed too long,
Because the snowman I made had died.