"Pup in a Snowstorm"

My lop-eared pup looked up at me
With dark accusing eyes,
And plainly asked, "What seems to be
The matter with the skies?"
He was so young, he'd never seen
The lovely snow before.

He sat down on his wagging tail
Before our drifted door,
And rose as promptly, turning round
To stare at where he'd sat,
Amazed that happy earth could be
As sudden-cold as that!
I laughed, but with a puzzled look
He pounced and raced into
A drift and scrambled madly there,
Trying to get through.
With silver on his nose and brows,
And silver on his coat,
He gazed askance at airy skies
Gone suddenly afloat.
Out of the drift he trotted then
And snapped up snowflakes, bound
And determined to catch all the sky
Before it touched the ground!

Author: Frances Frost
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