MEMORIES: THE SNOWS OF CHILDHOOD

THE SNOWS OF CHILDHOOD

When the northeast wind drops a snowy

Sail and drapes it over our backyard,

And the halos of angel choristers glow

All over the ebony bowl of heaven,

I pull on my wooley snowpants

And plant my boots in my father’s tracks

To help shovel out our garage.

Above a furry muffler and below

A knitted cap, my cheeks are slapped

Red as my Yorkshire cousins’,  who once

Dug paths to the barn.  With a small spade

I cut cakes as square as ice cubes

And fling them onto ramparts over my head.

My father and I sing Jingle Bells.