© Victoria A. Sears-Todd
I never care how much it snows in winter,
Upon hill or dale, field, or plain.
Just so the dog can romp and play,
In the powdery mist along our lane.
My dog, Black, puts his nose to the ground,
As he makes his way ahead of me.
His head bops up and down and plows a path,
Shoveling the shiny white crystals upon his black face.
I seem to forget the cold outside and that there are chores to do.
I wish we could stay and play all day,
In a February snow.
Just my dog and the quiet white.
Listening to the whistle of traveling drifts,
Through hill and dale, field, and plain.