I wrote a poem a year ago
about an inflated man of snow
a grinning, lit-up, cheerful presence
giving comfort and joy beyond his essence.
But one night
brought quite a fright:
four cartoon inflateds, plus a Christmas train,
had invaded his space; I feared for the strain
of all that light. Sure enough, next night
their yard was dark.
The six deflateds looked so stark
lying down all over the ground
that my talkative dog didn’t make a sound.
The rest of December, the same sad heaps
told us comfort and joy were gone for keeps.
So please, Christmas people, rein in your excess;
more is not always better than less.
One cheerful snowman once carried the night.
I hope he’ll be back. He was such a delight.


© by Alessandra Foster.
Used with the author's permission.