I knew a ten year old girl,
Her belief in magic was like pixie dust,
Coated across her ginormous glasses,
Covering her bright eyes.
From a bedroom window in Queens,
She saw snow for the first time.
It was like tiny pieces from the clouds above,
Breaking away.
But it didn’t seem like enough to build a snowman.
An hour passed, and there was barely any snow on the ground.
Two hours passed,
Then three,
Then four.
It seemed like the magic she saw on t.v.,
Were illusions from a 32 inch screen.
The pixie dust began to fade away,
Until the girl’s aunt gave her a hat and scarf to play.
They went outside and the pixie dust began to reappear,
As the snow seemed tall enough to reach her uncle’s beard.
They made a big ball, then they made two more.
The little girl saw magic performed before her very eyes,
When a scarf and a hat brought a snowman to life.
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