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Daily Archives: January 12, 2013

The snow Fairy


Softly, softly, on the breeze
The snow fairy flitters among the trees;
Her laughter’s warm, it brings good cheer,
And merriment this time of year.
With glittery brightness and magic’s glow
She gently lights upon the snow;
From tiny pocket makes food appear
To feed the birds and the tiny reindeer.
Then with a smile and a twinkling eye
She bids the dear little ones goodbye;
For she has much to do today,
Though what it is I cannot say;
Now it’s a secret, but soon you will know,
And you’ll be delighted from head to toe!






WHERE the wild bear clasps the ice

Over the hanging precipice,

Where the glittering icebergs shine

Within the sunset, red as wine,

Where the reindeer lick the snow,

To see what there may be below,

Where the shades are blue and green,

There lives, they say, the great Snow Queen.


Wild her eyes are as the sea

When northern winds blow lustily.

Her queenly robes are white as snow,

But flaming diamonds on them glow,

And many a precious stone.

Of green ice builded is her throne:

Polar bears her watch-dogs are–

Her only lamp, an evening star.




Once with my scarf knotted over my mouth
I lumbered into a storm of snow up the long hill
and did not know where I was going except to the top of it.
In those days we went out like that.
Even children went out like that.
Someone was crying hard at home again, 
raging blizzard of sobs.

I dragged the sled by its rope, 
which we normally did not do
when snow was coming down so hard,
pulling my brother whom I called by our secret name
as if we could be other people under the skin.
The snow bit into my face, prickling the rim
of the head where the hair starts coming out.
And it was a big one. It would come down and down
for days. People would dig their cars out like potatoes.

How are you doing back there? I shouted,
and he said Fine, I’m doing fine, 
in the sunniest voice he could muster 
and I think I should love him more today
for having used it.

At the top we turned and he slid down,
steering himself with the rope gripped in
his mittened hands. I stumbled behind
sinking deeply, shouting Ho! Look at him go!
as if we were having a good time.
Alone on the hill. That was the deepest
I ever went into the snow. Now I think of it
when I stare at paper or into silences
between human beings. The drifting 
accumulation. A father goes months 
without speaking to his son. 

How there can be a place 
so cold any movement saves you.

Ho! You bang your hands together,
stomp your feet.  The father could die!
The son! Before the weather changes.
Naomi Shihab Nye
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