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The snow is disappearing but before it goes here is a poem I wrote in 2011. It was shortlisted in the Chapel Gallery Poetry Competition that year.

 

The Snowball

 

 

She holds the snowball

in mittened hands,

satisfied she has patted

a perfect globe.

She presses it to her lips

and gently takes a bite.

Her tongue tingles with the taste

of a thousand dendrites.

 

Bending down she pushes

the ball across the virgin snow

relishing the crunching sound it makes

as it grows and grows.

Face glowing with exertion

she tramples a twisted

path searching for only the purest snow.

 

She rests now, enshrouded

in her panting breath,

bones rattling with cold.

She gazes at the snowball

through frosted tears.

It has grown too big to hold.

 

Shirley Anne Cook

 

ball

 

 

 

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