When were you built?
It was not in the summer or you would melt.
It could not be when it rained
Because then you’d grow slushy and fill with pain
Or when the sun shined bright and it was far too warm.
And it would not have been when bees in the summer swarm.
Mr. Snowman,
I know that you stand tall
And in the winter, you were tallest of all.
You do not grow
So how will I ever know
Where you have come from?
Was it innocent hand and mind, thought to be by some?
Mr. Snowman,
When will you have to leave?
Will it be with the coming of the birds and the blossoming of the trees?
Why must you stay for only mere hours?
With such short a time, you’ll never watch the blooming of the flowers.
There’s still so much for you to see and even more to know.
So why, oh why must you and others I will sorely miss always have to go?
And end up where you will,
For I may never know…
Mr. Snowman by Brittany Wyszomierski