Beside the roots of the tall cedar,
With the strangers all bound with love,
A love for the white linen snow,
Love for the thrill of speed on its virgin skin,
Lies my friend from long back.
He has forgotten now what the amber of the sun felt like.
Beautifully enveloped in the soft white linen of snow,
Years of playing children,
Heaps of demolished soulless snowmen lie on top of him,
Carrotted hatted and scarfed to perfection,
Crafted with the love of cold wet hands.
Underneath the muffled cries of many gleeful sleigh rides,
He lies crushed and broken in the virgin snow.
Now it melts in the heat of imminent spring.
Gray like the tabby cat’s underside.
It threatens to expose the sins of winter
And reveal my crushed and broken friend.
Rudely wake him from his extended holiday
Under the stiff comfort of forty feet of snow.
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