At winter's end

a snowman grows

a snowdrop

on his carrot nose,

a little, sad,

late—season sniff

dried by the spring

wind's handkerchief.

But day and night

the sniffles drop

like flower buds

—they never stops,

until you wake

and find one day

the cold,old man

has run away,

and winter's winds

that blow and pass

let drifts of snowdrops

in the grass,

reminding us:

where such thing grow

a snowman sniffles

not long ago.