Because Snowflakes Have Shadows

Everything is (in the world around me,
forget city or state, all I see is)
a white and wet blanket,
covering grass and sidewalks,
building memorials on tree branches,
people calling and the sounds
of snowballs assailing their foes.
All is laughter and quite jovial
in the white that covers my world,
save lonesome me in my
unmatched gloves and restless feet,
now stomping, now pacing
then gathering up the snow,
packing it tight,
I hurl it and thudding, sticks
to the birch tree, and at last
I vent, complaining and demanding,
when suddenly I see,
as words drop from my lips,
and I never hear them fall.
Though lamp illuminates softly
(making white so sweet and filling
my pained heart with warmth),
shadows, quickly disappearing,
and replaced again.
There in the middle of
my cold feet in snowy rant,
I know that you love me
because snowflakes have shadows.

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