The sky is falling,
Someone must be bawling,
I am crawling.

Barefoot in the snow,
No more grass to mow,
I have places to go.

Joy for a boy is simply a ploy.
Coy, you wish to be my toy.

Growing older and growing up are two different ideas –
My snow angels are bigger now.

My day, perhaps insinuating of gray,
Winter woes: I must grow watchful of my toes.

My  mind, as barren as the rest of my kind.
Perhaps, then, I am blind.