Foreboding
His scarf is more for modesty than warmth:
he likes the cold, prefers to be outside,
longs for the icy climate of the north.
But he is shy. His instinct is to hide;
he’d rather survey others than be seen.
He misses nothing. Mute but eager-eyed,
he stands and watches, studies the routine
of all who pass. His vigilance is clear
but not his thoughts. Though outwardly serene,
he harbours nonetheless a secret fear,
a growing premonition he has felt
since his creation: that the time is near
when all the snowy land in which he’s dwelt
will thaw and, with his landscape, he will melt.
he likes the cold, prefers to be outside,
longs for the icy climate of the north.
But he is shy. His instinct is to hide;
he’d rather survey others than be seen.
He misses nothing. Mute but eager-eyed,
he stands and watches, studies the routine
of all who pass. His vigilance is clear
but not his thoughts. Though outwardly serene,
he harbours nonetheless a secret fear,
a growing premonition he has felt
since his creation: that the time is near
when all the snowy land in which he’s dwelt
will thaw and, with his landscape, he will melt.
This poem is copyright (©) Amy Fox 2024
About the Writer
Amy Fox
Amy loves writing, nature and the outdoors. She is passionate about
connecting people with the nature on their doorsteps and especially enjoys
appreciating small, often overlooked details while finding fresh ways to
observe and celebrate them. She lives in Birmingham, UK, with her husband, three children and lots of animals.
