The Snowman

A snowman looked into a valley

Lit up by a silvery moon

And he saw that the time of the people had passed

And that all would be sleeping soon

And a million white snowflakes were sparkling

As the stars blazed so bright in the sky

And the snowman stood silent on the hillside

As he watched a small boy passing by

But the boy paid no heed to the snowman

As he watched every footstep break through

The white crystal carpet that covered the land

No longer unbroken and new

For that night the boy was an artist

His canvas the snow-covered ground

And his brushstrokes made patterns that peppered the slopes

Of the hills he was walking around

And the snowman looked on whistling softly

Secure in the knowledge that men

Never hear the soft whistlings of snowmen at night

To which snowmen are prone now and then

When suddenly the boy stopped in his tracks

Turned slowly and cocked his head

Listening in silence to the silent tune…

“Ah – it’s only the wind” he said

But he saw the snowman on the hillside

Bathed as it was in silvery light

And he walked up the slope on a whim to be with

The crystalline man of the night

Then they stood side-by-side, boy and snowman

Looking over their wintry domain

And the boy whispered softly under his breath

“It is here I would choose to remain

I will stay ‘till the monochrome light of the moon

Concedes to the colours of dawn

And fresh fallen snow forms around me

To announce a new snowman is born

A coat of the purest, brilliant white

Shall be my sartorial pride

A carrot shall furnish my face with a nose

Two buttons will serve as my eyes

And if the people provide them

Some glasses will rest on my nose”

“But you’re like other men!” said the snowman

“By then my boy you will surely have froze!

The long winter nights are for snowmen

Little boys should be tucked up in bed

And we’ll meet once more in the morning light

When you come with your friends and a sledge

You’ll play at my feet, I’ll be as replete

A snowman as snowmen can be

And all will be right in the order of things

Little friend I’m sure you’ll agree

That you’re a boy and I’m a snowman”

The boy looked so sad then

And turned to face the snowman eye-to-eye

“If you’re not here in the morning” he said

“You’ll make a little boy cry”

“Then your tears will be mine” said the snowman

“As they mix with the melting snow

And we’ll be as one in the droplets of dew,

In the rain, in the water that nourishes you

Until next year when you build me anew

But now it is late, you must go”

So the boy said goodbye to the snowman

And returned to the warmth of his bed

With a glass of hot milk and some supper from mum,

“Silly boy, you’re half frozen” she said

Then he slipped into sleep so sweetly

And dreamt so deeply in bed where he lay

Of two snowmen stood side-by-side on a hill

On a beautiful, bright winter’s day

The Curious Object

‘Hurray it’s my birthday’, cried Jesse

As he jumped out of bed with a grin

And forgetting his cares

He ran down the stairs

To see if the postman had been

And waiting for him on the doorstep

Was a sight that filled him with joy

No word of a lie

There were cards piled high

Awaiting a lucky young boy

He gathered the cards in a pile

And opened the first one with glee

When a knock at the door

Saw them crash to the floor

As he ran to see who it could be

But instead of the man he expected

With a card that he’d left in the sack

He looked down and saw

A strange box on the floor

But no sign that the postman was back

And to make matters even more puzzling

No hint as to who it was from

Could be gleaned from the note

With the curious quote:

“To Jesse, happy birthday, Anon”

So he opened the curious package

Found it hard to describe what he saw

For the object inside

Seemed to be twice as wide

As the box that now lay on the floor

Although it was long it appeared rather short

And quite thin even though it was thick

And although to the touch

Felt decidedly rough

To the eye looked deceptively slick

So with due trepidation an investigation

Revealed that he soon had acquired

A skill that allowed him

To bend it at will

And create any shape one desired

Jesse fashioned it into a skateboard

Raced off in the blink of an eye

While shaping a wing

Near the back of the thing

That allowed him to take off and fly

So he flew through the sky like a bird flying high

Looking down at the trees on the ground

Then being astute made a parachute

And floated quite gently back down

That afternoon when a friend came to stay

They folded it into a kite

And flew it till darkness descended

When they fashioned a tent for the night

“This is”, declared Jesse, “a wonderful present

And surely a marvellous game

But I just cannot stand

What I don’t understand

What on earth”, Jesse cried, “is its name?”

His mum shrugged her shoulders and so did his dad

And none of his best friends could say

Indeed no-one could claim

That they’d heard of a name

For the thing that arrived yesterday

But his mum had a helpful suggestion

Uncle Jon was a doctor you see

Who had worked hard to wield

The full weight of his field:

Cognitive psychology

Jon had studied the nature of objects

And could name every one in a trice

He could recognise cards

From sixty-five yards

Having only to look once or twice

Jesse packed up the curious object

With a note saying “Dear Uncle Jon”

And then in red ink

He wrote: “What do you think?

What is this strange gift from Anon?”

Uncle Jon was as baffled as Jesse

Having never before seen the like

For he’d never been told

Of a thing one could fold

Then ride down the street like a bike

So he rode it to work then he rode it back home

With no clue as to what it could be

Then feeling inspired

He deftly rewired

The thing to accept DVD

When he woke the next day he whisked it away

To be analysed back at the lab

Where researchers alluded

Then firmly concluded

It defied every label they had

So they sent it away to an expert

Whose skill was so great it was fabled

And to widespread acclaim

He discovered a name

For the thing that refused to be labelled

“It is”, said the doctor, “a very rare object

Only once in my life have I heard

Of a thing called a multiple poly-di-morph

Designed for King Richard the third

Then improved by the famous Da Vinci

It conforms to a magical code

Calculated from Pi

And the square root of ‘i’

From which numerous theories have flowed

And even the great Albert Einstein

Played with one when he was young

It gave him the notion

Of relative motion

Not to mention hours of fun”

And so the good doctor concluded

And wrote an extensive report

Which he posted along

With the object to Jon

‘What a load of old rubbish’ Jon thought

To Jesse he wrote, “Dearest nephew

You asked for the name of the thing

After much careful thought

I am pleased to report

It’s a thingy-van-whatsome-a-jing

And as to the question of function

Here I’m sure you’re inclined to agree

That it is what it is

- Not a test or a quiz –

But whatever you want it to be

So have fun with your thingy-van-whatsome

Because sooner than you might have thought

You’ll find you’ve grown up

And your mind’s been made up

By all of the stuff you’ve been taught

Just remember the world is a playground

And every object’s a toy

And life is a skill

We can bend to our will

Happy birthday, dear nephew, 

Enjoy!”