Mikko S.


The little boy sits by the window
hoping for white flakes of snow.
He asks his mom when they will come.
She tells him, “Soon there will be some.”
Hope shines in the child’s eyes
like a ferocious fire in disguise.
He waits and waits, days and weeks,            
They all pass by with a kiss on his cheeks.
The winter ends and flowers bud,
the frozen earth just turns to mud.
Summer comes and with it heat.
The boy grows older in defeat.

The northern winds bring cold air
but, the days, they still seem fair.
The boy waits for his snow to come.
He looks out his window, he sees some.
One flake, then two, begin to pile.
He looks outside but it stops after a while.

He goes outside, ready to play,
he makes a snowball but in dismay.
The snow is too dry, it will not stick.
The air is too cold, he might get sick.
He goes inside and puts his coat to dry.
There goes his childhood, bye, bye.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.