Cold Clutches of Winter

A kiss on the cheek of love,

To protect the child from the lurking darkness of a closed-door closet,

And a flurry of snow outside,

Grazing the window through which the child looks,

After the door closes and footsteps step away,

To the window a hand presses,

Once warm from the clutch of a soft blanket.

Now cold from the violence of the storm,

Pounding against the walls like the beating of the heart,

Thump, Thump, Thump,

Can those walls swallow the winter before a child is lost,

But no,

The outdoors look too magical,

A winter land with presents and dancing teddy bears,

Eyes are lost to the darkness,

A body standing still,

The heating of the room trying to pull the child back into its clutches,

But failure must be imminent,

For the door slams open upon the window closing,

To two parents standing there,

Holding each other in hope that it was all a dream,

For there in the bed is a lump,

A mop of dusty hair on top,

Pull back the covers a mindless thought pops into their heads,

And upon the grasping of the blankets and the pushing of the pillows,

Not but a stuffed bear is found,

With beady eyes devoid of life,

A tag on its shoulder,

“May he rest in Peace.”