Is It Sticking?

One flurry of snow at dusk
Spawned an avalanche of
White drifting dreams.
Morning. Icy windscreens,
Hills of frosted green,
But no snow.

So playground bound children
Stamped cold away,
All the while praying
Until one was heard say,
It’s snowing!
More and more fell
Softly, silently, muffling ears
To the school bell. Sitting now but
Giddy, glancing,
Wondering, whispering,
Urging the clock go quick
And shooing off morning sun.
See!?
I think it’s beginning to stick!

By Dermy McNally