Snowman

It's falling still, but still we must

Raise something up, a man of snow

In image of a man of dust;

Let his buttons make a row

Of portly contemplation, gruff

But friendly let his coal-eyes glow;

Come, Squeal-in-Boots and Laughing Muff,

Sound if the white lawn's deep enough:

No plan beyond our willful making,

Bend to build from little balls

Mass and manhood, bend, forsaking

Ominous preconceit that calls

for blueprint; for it's falling still,

And we must risk; this that falls

Comes down perhaps by form and will:

We have mere improvising skill.

Give ears, nose, hat, and let him sense

His part, to grasp it as he can;

Give him the shelter of our fence-

Fair bargain, for love has no plan.

Spring will come to melt his knees

And sprawl him like a truthful man;

But for now, let him stand and freeze,

Upright among the Christmas trees.