Snow Globe

A chill ... Not on skin - to marrow If but for the frigid air A horrid pattern would trace my cheek Though not nearly as horrid As the one that faces me upon the glass It is quite beautiful in shape Hemmed with frost crystals, like Guipure Lace The letters formed perfectly ... I wonder, am I the first? Did you practice scribing it flawlessly backward just for me Or is this your common out? Oh, if I was yet a plastic figure, how divine! No heart to rend, no trembling hands to hide Just a fake little man ... stuck in a snow globe Dreamy flakes falling like lashes With just a simple shake Plastic man with a happy castle and cresh behind If only ... then this callous word you've traced That drips and freezes into beauty On the window between us Would be naught But Christmas fun Instead of ... Farewell. ~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Stuck In A Christmas Globe" Poetry Contest, Bobby May, Judge & Sponsor.