The swale dipped below the hill.
Children slid down, boots kicking light,
their laughter trailing like loose threads.
Snow clung to them, wet and bright.
A hawk wheeled above, watching—
its shadow brushed their woven tracks.
A boy leapt, tumbling into white.
The others cheered as he climbed back.
The light grew thin, the sky bruised.
Still, they lingered, their red mittens
smeared with cold earth and ice.
No clock in their hearts, no rules.
Later, the slope bore their shapes.
Empty now, but the echoes held—
ghosts laughing in a silver dusk,
marking the frost with wild footprints.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: January 4th, 2026 04:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship
Offline)
Comments3
good write my friend, enjoyed the read
Thanks Norman. Happy New Year Brother 🎈💐💐
same to you
Like the prints in the snow so we leave our prints after our joyful journey in this life of brief day. What a wonderful write my friend a vivid metaphor of life itself cast in the innocence of children at play in a scene of no rules where we all pass away. Your use of rhyme and near rhyme enhances the poem decorating it with life. Lovely and a fave
Thanks Soren I appreciate your feedback
You are most welcome my friend
Lovely written, my friend. Your poem revolves around the joy and innocence of childhood, capturing the fleeting beauty of a snowy day where children engage in playful activities without the constraints of time or adult responsibilities. The poem evokes nostalgia and the essence of carefree moments that leave lasting impressions.
Thanks for sharing your feedback I appreciate it
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