Write a poem about: Winter

There is no crisp chill

or air too cold

when a snowball must be made

or a sled ridden.

Let the snow angels

adorn the yard

under a sentry

of rolled balls stacked

three high with

sticks for arms.

Let icicles form,

let gray clouds hang overhead,

let specks of white

meander slowly, loftily

aimlessly on.

Let them fall,

let them land

and build up the reserves

for the snowballs

must be made,

the sleds ridden,

and angels carved

by gliding wings.

-MKM 1/20/19