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  • Writer's pictureGary the Poet's Pen

Over The Hills Of Snow

It was an April morning that was unusual, chilly and cold

It is mornings like this that kids find glee, mirth and gold,

Although the teachers are trying to disseminate the facts

The restless whimsy that lives in the spirit moves and acts.

There was a reason for this unexpected, blizzard like flurry

Frosty the Snowman was fleeing to Alaska, he was in a hurry,

I must escape the season; I lingered too long in the Dakotas

Dancing with the wolves and playing games with the Lakotas.

He brought a blanket to the Midwest as camouflage and way

The wind howled and the wolves followed with much to say,

Not all that can be learned is found within the pages of a book

Have you considered the bass and their lives spent in a brook?

Are sounds of wonder and adventure not also worth a shout?

Or is regurgitating propaganda what this life is truly all about?

No, said Frosty, a life spent without joy can make such a mess

I have never written a book, yet I am in it, and am so blessed.

Now the media was looking for someone to further the angle

That this snow was the result of a gunslinger with a bangle,

No, said Frosty, I will not get caught up in the politics today

I am heading north to relax and covertly, I will make the way.

So, try as they might, there was no footage for moguls of news

Just a thick covering of frost, snow and ice were the only clues,

The hustle and bustle of the brave new world paused all day

And Frosty took his cold frolicking; kept talking heads at bay.

For just a moment today, will you leave your cares and play?

Remembering when it was the thing to do; highlighting today,

You might even sing a song and ride a sled, sipping hot cocoa

Thinking again of Frosty the Snowman, over the hills of snow!

Written by Gary Cox 04/20/ God be the glory

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