Snow Globe
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A chill ...
Not on skin - to marrow
If but for the frigid air
A horrid pattern would trace my cheek
Though not nearly as horrid
As the one that faces me upon the glass
It is quite beautiful in shape
Hemmed with frost crystals, like Guipure Lace
The letters formed perfectly ...
I wonder, am I the first?
Did you practice scribing it flawlessly backward just for me
Or is this your common out?
Oh, if I was yet a plastic figure, how divine!
No heart to rend, no trembling hands to hide
Just a fake little man ... stuck in a snow globe
Dreamy flakes falling like lashes
With just a simple shake
Plastic man with a happy castle and cresh behind
If only ... then this callous word you've traced
That drips and freezes into beauty
On the window between us
Would be naught
But Christmas fun
Instead of ...
Farewell.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Stuck In A Christmas Globe" Poetry Contest, Bobby May, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2019
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