Snow Queen
The tiny pink glove
offers warmth, even now.
Her hand could have been cosy in there
shaking off the snow.
She’d be skating, about now.
Her look of shock and delight
would spread to my face too,
as she slipped.
But she’d know I’d grasp her hand
in the pink glove.
She’d wait for her white gold
to be brushed away, about now.
I can see the silent wind playing
that snow flake on her nose.
Forever young
I could see it all in her eyes.
No disguise, no lies.
More snow would settle on her coat,
drawn to her aura.
The coloured lights meant everything
to her. Magic and safety
in her little heart.
So many songs unsung.
So many snowflakes, since then,
have fallen to the ground, through that little space
that was her.
Time has told me to place the plastic bag
with the garbage men.
Will they know what’s in there?
A picture of dragons, expertly
and proudly drawn with brown crayon.
A koala, badly torn, but loved.
And a pink glove. Too fragile
to beat the grinder.
The neighbours can see me cry.
I don’t care as I stumble to the
road looking for the whole of her life
in that plastic bag.
Oh how I cry when I see the
garbage truck dash away
through the snow. I can’t write the last line…
2007-08-07
12:10:31
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9 answers
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asked by
Dave H
1