This poem contains two stories of the fun someone can have when building a snowman. |
I have some stories to tell you About snowmen; these stories are true. (Story 1) A couple of years ago, I build a snowman, And no, he was not made out of sand. He was kind of short, like a dwarf, and sort of lumpy; I guess I could have named him “Grumpy.” I gave him not a name, but a label suitable for him; I called him my Blues Brother snowman, for he looked as smooth as them. After he was built, I set on him a black fedora made of plastic. After I set sunglasses on his head, I thought to myself, “This is almost fantastic!” I ran in my house to get a black overcoat to dress him in. When he was complete, I declared him my Blues Brothers snowman. (Story 2) Now, the other snowman was made of different things; He was neither made of bugs nor strings. My daughter and I rolled the snowballs carefully, Or so we thought; they turned out dreadfully. Three snowballs, each smaller than the one preceding it; It did not matter; they still looked like &%#@ His face was made of half of a pretzel and dog food. Now I see why he was in a bad mood: He was being eaten by dogs that live near. He no longer looked dreadful; he looked kind of queer. Both snowmen are melted now; they had a good run. Next year, I shall build another and have more fun! |