He’'s standing tall out in the yard behind the garden gate,
And I know he'’s hoping springtime this year will come a little late.
He’'s never seen a daisy, morning glory or a rose,
But then he could not smell them with a carrot for a nose.

He'’s never seen the hillsides with just a hint of green,
Trees with leaves are something that he has never seen.
A butterfly could flutter by and he'’d have not a clue,
Of the cocooned transformation those caterpillars do.

You could tell him ‘bout the garden that soon will take his place
But he’'d just have a blank look there upon his snowy face.
He knows nothing of plantings, of seedlings in the spring
Of all the graceful greenery and flowery warmth they bring.

But his happy winter welcome, he never fails to smile,
And he'’ll be here to welcome you if only for awhile.
Content, he in his ignorance of a gardener’s delights
Perhaps he wouldn'’t trade them for his pearly winter whites.

So at dawn I see his shadow spread gently by the sun,
Snowfriends in other yards wave hi; he'’s not the only one.
Then later he’'ll be glistening, sugar sunshined round ‘bout noon,
And by midnight he’'ll be sound asleep beneath a wintry moon.

01/07/2004