Pixie Dust

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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