One brother watched another through the window –
Gloved hands worked with love, though caked with snow.
The older one marveled at his sibling with sorrow:
“Why make a snowman if it’ll melt tomorrow?”
Soon the youth returned, eyes bright, cheeks pink,
Tugged an arm. “It’s perfect snowman snow, I think!”
“Soon you’ll learn: these are days for a textbook.”
The younger cast his brother a sad, careful look.
The snowman, on the other hand,
Looked past a landscape bleak and bland,
Through a window, and silently mused,
“Why spend life cold, detached, confused
If you knew you’d melt away someday?”