Breathless in the yawning black of night;
All landmarks gone
In the fading light.
The silence is frightening,
As all sound of life,
Is muted,
 By the beautiful white fluffiness,
Of Middle Earth tonight.

A stroll at dusk, so appealing,
With the earth a lily white,
I opened  the hatch on my holiday snow globe,
And walked off into the muffled night.

Is that motion I am seeing,
Up ahead,
Or fear raising specters in the night?
I suspect no predators
In this locale,
Surely there is no need for my fright.

Shots ring out in the distance,
And to me the target is unknown,
Prudence suggests that I be on my way,
To the forest, where I hope to be alone.

My legs grow heavier,
With every step,
My muscles crying out,
For a moment of rest,
I am soon on my back
In the icy depths,
Lost, and so far from home.

My bed of snow is a comfort,
Soft and surprisingly warm,
The sky above so beautiful,
So what, then, is my cause for alarm?

I call out quite loud,
To the heavens above,
For a miracle of rescue
From on high.
Then carefully in the chill,
 I slowly sit up,
And in the darkness,
Try to focus my eyes.

My hands, I notice,
Are miniature,
And the rest of my body as well,
I am no bigger
Than a plastic groom on a cake,
But I知 perfect in every minor detail.

I hear a melody in the distance,
A choir singing Christmas carols.
There are three tiny boys
Shooting holes in the ice,
Hoping to play hockey,
But not at their peril.

Tiny dogs chase tiny boys,
While tiny horses pull tiny sleighs,
And most things remain constant,
On most snow globe days.

But as for these turns of events
Most alarming,
And despite this little village,
Most charming,
I want to return to  my home.

So there is little left for me to do,
But retrace my steps
Through and through;
Through the forest,
And across the pond,
Past the tiny plastic people,
All signing songs.
I must go through the crowd,
And past the Christmas celebration,
There turning left,
Toward my destination.
I値l head past the boys,
On the pond playing hockey,
Then past the little horses,
With their tiny little jockeys.
And if all goes well,
I値l find the hatch,
On the bottom of the snow globe,
And I値l open the latch,
And if I don稚 die in the ensuing flood,
I値l probably get stuck in the resulting mud.
But if I survive this winter adventure,
You can bet that I値l always remember,
That when next it should happen to snow,
You can bet that I値l probably stay home.