His mother had been right. <br />The glass on all the windows <br />transformed itself to shapes <br />of the most beautiful of flowers, <br />the roses of Old Man Winter. <br /> <br />He touched his nose to feel <br />and saw the flowers fade <br />only returning with his patience. <br />There was a true abundance <br />of glowing heat, dressed up <br />as frost to redden little cheeks <br />and curious noses in a flash. <br /> <br />He quickly turned himself <br />into a locomotive, blowing steam <br />across the valleys of his mouth <br />where promises of tiny teeth <br />rose up to add assistance. <br /> <br />As all good thoughts reward <br />the snowflakes tumbled down <br />only behind the circle of warm air <br />that one small boy had shared <br />first with himself and then, <br />because of love, his mother.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ice-flowers/
