From deep within the timeless dark,
Where patiently he dwelt.
Something stirred intangibly.
A tickling he felt.
The reason for this feeling,
Came from the real world.
As all about the landscape,
Snowflakes gently swirled.
His consciousness began to wake.
He wondered when they’d come.
Those little gods who made him.
The happy playful ones.
Anticipation ruled him.
He somehow sensed the dawn.
It wasn’t too long after that,
His feet began to form.
The process was the same each time,
As from the ground he rose.
Until at last his head was done.
He struck a classic pose.
He felt a scarf go around his neck.
His arms were spindly twigs.
A hat was rested on his head,
As Snowmen don’t wear wigs.
He got a carrot for a nose,
Which suited him quite well.
But when the snow lays all about,
There isn’t much to smell.
Next would come his favourite part,
It swelled his Snowman soul,
For at last he’d see his makers,
As they gave him eyes of coal.
So there he stood, complete again,
But how long would it last.
The winters here were often short,
As he’d found out in the past.
It didn’t really bother him,
It happened every year.
Next year they would rebuild him,
Of that he had no fear.
Then bigger gods came out to see,
They brought some steaming pies.
And as they ate they studied him,
With wonder in their eyes.
They sipped hot mugs of chocolate,
And gave to him three cheers.
Alas, he could not hear them,
As Snowmen don’t have ears.