Go to Sleep, Little Baby (A Snow Lullaby)

Go to Sleep, Little Baby (A Snow Lullaby)

Snow falls silently, and its peaceful,

Toneless lullaby is sung to the ears

Of imagination, and for a moment

I can think of no better way to go,

To simply fade away into a soft

Oblivion. It would need to be gradual

Of course: I've taken a cold shower,

And I've jumped into a frozen lake;

Such change is too violent, too abrupt,

Too hard. No, that's ice. It may suffice.

Of course, Frost would know, but he

Saw this side too, stopping in woods

Long enough to feel that beckoning,

Soft, falling end. If it were fast,

We'd be forced to fight it, or flee

Inside. No, just bundle up and go out,

Only prepare yourself for a short while,

A brief visit, and then it's simple,

Outstay your welcome. Lie down

And make a real snow angel. You are

Covered, head to toe, but the cold

Seeps through, little by little. Would it

Hurt to pass that threshold, or would

You go out, seeing strange memories

Of Christmas lights and a grandmother's

Love? If you didn't fight it, didn't seek

To build the fire, would your spark

Go out slowly, snuffed, buried beneath

A million individualized flakes, collected

Together to shroud your restful body?

Would your soul hang on, enjoying

The peaceful victory over fear and pride,

Or would the ghost be given up first,

Stepping out for a better warmer seat

To watch the closing seconds, or with

The game decided, head out to beat

The traffic home? The mind can paint

A picture of anything, create illusions,

Imagine peace, just from seeing a scene

Of soft fluffy inviting white and gray.

We can see a pillow, a cloud, a heavenly

Dream, in our comfortable warm minds,

And never have to ask about reality,

The actual experience of one who knows,

Whose only coat's defenses have already

Been besieged, who has no fireside

Chair retreat, no sheltering keep to stave

Off the frozen barbarians threatening

At the gate, a man whose toes battered

Numb by repeated ramming, purpled,

Gray, already bitten, and beginning

A vampire like turn to eternal freeze.

Such thoughts make you wonder if

The softness of snow is a friendly facade,

Disguising a harsh reality, we'd rather

Not see, that there is no difference

Between snow and ice, they both,
Whether hard or soft, they still

Have knives that cut, just like tyranny.