Except for the Chinese takeaway
That opened a year ago
The street looks just as it did the day
She walked through softly falling snow
Hand in hand with her mother, home to play
With her Barbies in front of The Late Late Show.
The snowflakes glow like icy fire,
Like sparks of an unearthly flame
And seem to burn with the desire
For all loved things to stay the same;
For time to freeze, death to expire,
And snow to whirl in an endless game.
But the footprints that her mother made
Were long gone long ago.
Only memory fails to fade
And only ghosts will never go
The way of the dolls with which she played
And yesterwinter's snow.