The Snow One

Dark. The sun was low but rising. Rolling deep from fresh fallen flake, a mallow mush of pasty white. Snow-Body barely a droplet, barely baring a bust or body, barely a mound worth kicking on passing. But Snow-Body snows and Snow-Body waited til by passing a deal was made.

A snicker, a chuckle, a giggle, a buckle. Snow-Body snows the snow-knowing those who gather, and garner a contact to boot. But Snow-Body snows of boots not, but of twigs and pebbles and of times most joyous.

A contract, a deal, a promise, a seal. To make is to muster from loose piece to buster, but Snow-Body snows kinship like nobody. Rolling and heaping, they’ve taken a turn to returning what has fallen to one. To Snow-Body a body is given in snow, and Snow-Body feels but only.

KINder kinder when at last they find a nose that fits just right. Root in caratage and worth its weight, smells not but is quite dandy and fine. Dandy is a dry branch snapped and misshapen, but suits fine to have a hand shaken, and greet those who gander in interest.

Fellows familiar fasten and fix pebbles to pupil pry as peepers. And at last the last is set atop the mallow mush melon of Snow-Body. Snow-Body snows tip top, and top is a hat to tip, and top hat is the tip top of top.

But to snow Snow-Body snows will return, awaiting new falling to come. When?

Only does Snow-Body snow.