Once I met this girl On my way to a desert of snow. With a bucket and shovel in my hand, A bit of chill on the spine, I was trying to make a heap of snow Then maybe a man of it. She sat there for hours, Watching me, smiling with fair cheeks, While I saw her transforming bit by bit. A carrot appeared on the nose, Green scarf of a childhood winter Cuddled her cold white neck, And a fuzzy hat sat on her snow-head. My baffled voice asked, “How did you do that?” Without opening her lips, she answered, “Just dreaming bigger.”
I am thankful to my friend Tulika for this poem, who taught me that dream not only can be of making a snowman, but can be of becoming one.