An Ode to Snow

Mala

Our glacier has melted.
That glorious hillside,
Where the snowblower piles the snow.
In it’s finest state, 
I run to the top to roll, dig, and slide,
The snow cooling my warm skin
Cleansing my white fur.

It’s May now,
The snow and ice are gone,
Back to dirt and rock,
Balls hidden away all winter,
Revealed.

The meadow where we frolick
Is now nothing but grass, too
All of the sticks I’ve gathered
For me to grab, toss, and chew,
Exposed.

I rolled in the dry, dead grass
Filling my white coat with it, 
And some dirt, too.
My parents were thrilled –
They bathed me three days before.

Now, I’ll wait and hope for the snow to return,
Which might be soon.
At 8,000 feet in Colorado, 
May snow is expected. 
My beloved snow will fall again.