The Snowfall

As daytime ends, my windows frost.
I drift in thought to my younger years.
Like an old time friend, who was once lost.
I'm crying inside, but there are no tears.
The snow is settling, virgin white,
no footprints or trails to mar its splendour.
A flurry falls to feather the night.
As I recall my joyful childhood fervour.
Of how I used to scream, laugh and play,
with loved ones, ignorant to the bitter cold.
To capture that innocence for one more day,
fend off this sensation of growing old.
In my sleep, I dream of times long past;
the glistening fields of pure driven snow.
Remembering then how I wish this would last.
But sadly with time, there’s no stopping its flow.
Snowmen we built; carrot, scarf, hat and stones.
Long since forgotten and long since thawed.
Deep in my dream like so many old bones
or an artist’s brush strokes, colourful and broad.
As dawn comes around, I'm awoken with haste.
My child’s eyes excited with anticipation
“Come on Daddy”, she says “we can’t lie to waste”
“The snow has fallen”, she cries in elation.
I jump out of bed, we both dress up warm.
A snowman was built, and a snow angel was made.
My baby and I were both on full form.
Our childhood memories are not meant to fade.