Death of a Snowman
I began to be sorry when his carrot nose
seemed more like a last cigarette.
That jolly smile held a hint of concern,
his scarf far too big for his neck
Tomato eyes glowed in the shrinking face.
The fur hat was suddenly de trop.
He started to lean over, apologetically,
as if someone had struck him a blow
As the pale sun shone he looked quizzical,
more diminished at the end of each day.
At last, only hat, scarf and gloves were piled there:
his effects, to be taken away.
The demise required minimal admin,
as if he never had been.
His birth and death due to climate change:
a seasonal statistic, it seemed.
But I will remember that snowman:
his stoicism, faced with old age.
Created in fervour, then forgotten.
Nearing darkness with courage, not rage
Greg Freeman
Sat 30th Jan 2021 09:14
My wife made a snowman in our garden last Sunday, and as I watched its gentle decline during the week, I felt the same emotions as when I wrote this poem a number of years ago. Not so the Serco workmen in Woking Park ... one day this week they flattened all the snowmen there, causing at least one child that witnessed it to burst into tears. The explanation was that allowing snowmen to die naturally can damage or even kill the grass underneath. I see no evidence of that in our garden.
Thanks for your comment, Paul, and thanks to Phil, Brian, Vautaw, Lisa, Julie, Stephen A, Stephen G, Aviva and Holden for the Likes.