You and I, we view every snowstorm as a major inconvenience: yanking on coats and boots and scarves and hats and gloves; treacherous roads, traffic snarls and fender benders; grey skies and Seasonal Affective Disorder…
But children, they see that same snowstorm through a completely different set of eyes.
The Snowstorm
Toasty little flannelled feet,
Tiptoe ‘cross the nursery rug,
Busy, dimpled starfish hands,
Give the drapery cords a tug.
The amber glow of streetlamp light,
Illuminates two widened eyes,
That dance, as icing-sugar spills
In silence, from the murky skies.
Cheeks a-bloom like scarlet roses,
Button nose pressed to the glass,
Watching God’s vanilla frosting
Spread to hide the crisp, brown grass.
A gleeful gasp of baby’s breath;
Behold the wondrous sight below!
God has closed his doors above,
And scattered stars upon the snow.
As the sun begins its rise above
The dips and peaks of whipping cream,
Nanny finds, upon the sill,
Her charge, curled ‘round a winter dream.
Create-a-holic Writer 