Puppy Angels…

He plays in the snow,

Layin’ there on his back,

Paws in the air,

Making puppy angels,

In the snow, his mark.

He loves the snow & cold,

It never seems, to him, to get old,

He could stay out all the time,

But Dad, that mean old guy,

Makes him come in for a shot of rye…

Warmed up again,

It’s off to play in the snow,

Chasing dads snowballs,

They all but disappear,

Each time they are thrown & hit the ground,

He tries to pick them up, no longer round,

Broken, instead, down.

Oh darn, the snow it melted away,

But it will come another day,

As this is winter & there is no other way,

To have it without fewer sun’s rays,

And more cold & snow dismay.

                             (ed)