The SnowmanA Poem by Jacqueline Murray18 October 2012The snowman is the saddest man-- potted plant of Winter's plan. Bone free of flesh (and far too paralyzing to the touch)-- he looks on as the Pink boys play with abandon,
at bay. And all the while fixed, coal and sticks of a yuletide "Enchanté." Stick house no asylum then stick arms no tool of embrace; enemy of tactility (and that which burns all Wood.) And only through a fogged window pane is he given eyes-- by Tantalus, his creator, who rolled him round mid-stride. © 2014 Jacqueline Murray |
StatsAuthorJacqueline MurrayManhattan, NYAboutI have a tendency to fall off the map sometimes. more..Writing
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