The Snowman
"My snowball heart is a sorbet,
With delusions of grandeur,
Use alcohol instead of snow,
And I'd make a fine iced liqueur.
My arrival and departure,
Are never certain things,
Wherever the North wind blows,
I descend on the iciest wings.
Here one day, gone the next,
My appearances are fleeting,
Then I'm disembodied by thaws,
Until our next frosty meeting."
- Stewart Stafford
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