Lament of a Snowman Options

[Charon]

First revision, with a little help from my friends.  Thanks a bunch.



Lament of a Snowman

Born only yesterday, my destiny to fulfill,
powerful and stately, I stand on my hill.
Always dependable, I would never stray,
protector of my home; at guard every day.

Greeting everyone, a smile on my face,
eyes black as coal, steady is my gaze.
Though the cold wind blows I suffer no chill,
when the snows come, I envision a thrill.

I am a tower of strength; a joyful beacon to all,
sun caresses my brow as it answers my call.
Heavy rays beat down, hard on my head,
suddenly I contemplate a sense of dread.

My kingdom lies before me, a tapestry of white,
where did it come from, this dazzling light?
A balmy breeze plays across my loin and chest,
is the ground closer, why do I need rest?

My arms droop so; a scarf falls from my neck,
how can it be; buttons falling; I must look a wreck.
My bonnet once clean, now covered in mud,
my hat, my cover, has fallen with a thud.

I’ve discovered I’ve lost all of my clothes,
as I try to pick up my poor little nose.
My arm has become an old broken stick,
I think I shall be, terribly sick.

To be an enemy of the sun
what could I have done?
For me to be treated so
is really a blow.
A King was I,
but now all
I have
is my
final
sigh
.

---------------- First Version -------------

Lament of a Snowman

Born only yesterday, my destiny I’ll fulfill,
powerful and stately, standing on my hill.
Always dependable, I would never stray,
protector of my home; at guard every day.

Greeting everyone with a smile on my face,
eyes black as coal, steady is my gaze.
Though the cold wind blows I suffer no chill,
when the snows come, I envision a thrill.

I am a tower of strength; a joyful beacon to all,
sun caresses my brow as it answers my call.
Heavy rays beat down, hard on my head,
suddenly I contemplate a sense of dread.

My kingdom lies before me, a tapestry of white,
where did it come from, this dazzling light?
A balmy breeze plays across my loin and chest,
is the ground closer, why do I need to rest?

Why my arm droops so; my scarf falls from my neck,
how can it be; buttons falling; I must look a wreck.
My bonnet once so clean, now covered in mud,
my hat, my cover, has fallen with a thud.

I’ve discovered I’ve lost all of my clothes,
as I try to pick up my poor little nose.
My arm has become an old stick,
I think I shall be very sick.

To be an enemy of the sun
what could I have done?
For me to be treated so
is really a blow.
A King was I,
but now all
I have
is my
final
sigh
.


© 2003 Emerson H. Sollars
All rights reserved by Emerson H. Sollars as an unpublished work.

[Cybele]

Hi Butch,

Well, you made me feel like a child again here. I felt so sorry for Mr Snowman. It was like being at a pantomime when the big baddie creeps up behind the hero and all the children had to warn him by shouting out

"LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!!"

On reflection Butch, I don't think you have pantomimes in America do you?
A brief explanation. A panto is a christmas show, supposedly aimed at children though since the script includes lots of double-entendres and the men dress up as ugly old dames and the lovely young girls dress up as Prince Charming, I suspect the children are "dragged" along as a reason for the attendance of so many adult members of the family.

Now back to the poem:

Lament of a Snowman

Born only yesterday, my destiny I’ll fulfill,
powerful and stately, standing on my hill.
Always dependable, I would never stray,
protector of my home; at guard every day.

Greeting everyone with a smile on my face,
eyes black as coal, steady is my gaze.
Though the cold wind blows I suffer no chill,
when the snows come, I envision a thrill.

I am a tower of strength; a joyful beacon to all,
sun caresses my brow as it answers my call.
Heavy rays beat down, hard on my head,
suddenly I contemplate a sense of dread.

My kingdom lies before me, a tapestry of white,
where did it come from, this dazzling light?
A balmy breeze plays across my loin and chest,
is the ground closer, why do I need to rest?

Why my arm droops so; my scarf falls from my neck,
how can it be; buttons falling; I must look a wreck.
My bonnet once so clean, now covered in mud,
my hat, my cover, has fallen with a thud.

I’ve discovered I’ve lost all of my clothes,
as I try to pick up my poor little nose.
My arm has become an old stick,
I think I shall be very sick.

Suggested change to the following third line to keep the perfect symmetry, Butch.

To be an enemy of the sun
what could I have done?  
to be liquidised so
is really a blow.
A King was I,
but now all
I have
is my
final
sigh

I love all your Christmas offerings Butch. They are all written with the heart of a child. May your heart stay forever young!


Love

Grace