Snow

From dusk to day they played outside,

silvering grass and garden paths, freezing

window panes as well, and when they'd done

tied crystal baubles on spindly twigs, stood back

to watch wood bend then crack and fall.

The moon was just as much to blame

she turned to see and, being entertained,

beamed white, sending bright spot lights

to guide them in this wayward game.

When she changed shifts with an orange sun,

they fled, but the snowman we made at dawn

remains on the lawn, a thinning monument.

Mary Charman-Smith