'The trouble with snowmen,'

Said my father one year

'They are no sooner made

than they just disappear.

I'll build you a snowman

And I'll build it to last

Add sand and cement

And then have it cast.

And so every winter,'

He went on to explain

'You shall have a snowman

Be it sunshine or rain.'

And that snowman still stands

Though my father is gone

Out there in the garden

Like an unmarked gravestone.

Staring up at the house

Gross and misshapen

As if waiting for something

Bad to happen.

For as the years pass

And I grow older

When summers seem short

And winters colder.

The snowmen I envy

As I watch children play

Are the ones that are made

And then fade away.

Roger McGough