My popularity waned
as the blanket of winter whitne-ness
arrived in a frantic flurry.
Leaving hairy hounds and their owners to try
and plant their footsteps in the snow,
Like Wenceslas and page on a mission less honourable
but nevertheless essential.
Squealing sledge sliders,
carved the crystallising air with their yell,
to be heard for a while, before the darkness fell.
Today, one week after the snow first fell
the novelty has gone,
children returned to school
and life goes on.
Yes in the stillness snowflakes silently dance
in a metrological romance,
but no-one is looking anymore
no faces at window or door.
It is not the snow they look for
but the thaw.
