Snow Day

Because I could not wait to see

The sheets of snow outside,

I rush in hopes of catching sight—

A sea of white, high tide.

I fling the door and out I bolt

My steps upturning snow,

With tracks that taint the purity

Of angel wings aglow.

The cold is foreign, bittersweet;

My pure joy in decay,

And prickling needles in the wind

Hold sun-kissed memories at bay.

Back to my room I rush in haste,

Renounced the glaring chill

As laughs of carefree children melt

The frigid windowsill.

Wistfully out the glass I stare

Safe—and free from joy

A perfect portrait of silence hangs

A thickened veil of snow

Winter now is soon to fade,

My youth now growing old.

A newfound fear of missing out,

I rush out to the cold.

And in my palm I mold a sphere

Of snow that never lasts,

Dissolving through my fingers like

A broken hourglass.