Winter Memory

When we went sledding, long time gone,

The icicles were six feet long;

The snow surpassed a six-foot wall

And piled in drifts of six yards tall.

Or maybe not. But so it seemed

To us as children. Oft we dreamed

Of snow-flaked heavens where we’d glide

(With God and Angels at our side)

Upon a glittering field of white.

And all the day, and into night

The wind would howl, the cold trees shake,

The birds would hide, the ground would quake,

And magically our sleds would fly

Toward the clear and frozen sky!

And when the runners, caked with frost,

Were slowing down, we’d nothing lost:

The pond was slick. On sturdy skates

We’d cut the ice with figure eights.

It never happened quite that way

But we were young and prone to say

That winter was the best of seasons

And—sled and skate—we had our reasons.

Now slippery paths and icy ways,

A snowstorm that might last for days,

Can make us weary and surmise

To think of winter otherwise.

Young things still flaunt the season’s woes

But veterans of remembered snows

Retire to our Lazy-Boys

And smile upon those ancient joys.