Nothing is more certain than a Snowman’s death.
My proud six year old grandson made it big
twice his size, with help, weeks ago.
He strutted, he commanded,
he endowed his Snowman with a prick
black and up; a rakish angle.
The sun ages a man, all of us,
takes ‘up’ and turns it down.
In the dwindling it falls off,
the sun rains the snow,
rain fills the snow
and night freezes the heart rigid.
Sun, snow, rain, work,
the grand fades,
the icy lump collects new snow,
stays small, stubborn,
as all us old ones are.
Kent Bowker 3/6/2014
One thought on “The Death of a Snowman”
Kent, I envy your gift. You’ve captured “my truth” and at the same time identified what the atheist says is the reason why people believe in God. I can’t argue with you. The way I lived my life in this physical world confirms what you are saying. I guess I just honor the mystery in life a little more than you do. But all my life people have called me different.
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