Winter's Little Love
A hoary blanket lies across the ground
and the children love to be bitten in frost.
I watch the young girl purse her lips to purple
and still she enjoys the Winter bitterness.
In her fluffy pink mittens, she gathers a ball
made of crystals and dust- glowing under the sun.
And one toss becomes two or three to the boy
who eyes at her, blushing a red rush across his cheeks.
The day becomes night, and still over the hoary
blanket of Winter's bitterness, they played.
But I call in my daughter, and boy's father calls his son.
They wave good-bye, and eye to eye they gleamed.
Their young little love formed like a delicate crystal flake,
so fragile and so fun as it lasts.
And as winter goes, the snowflake melts all the way so fast.
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