Dear Mr. Snowman

Dear Mr. Snowman,

I wonder what it's like, being made of snow.

What have you observed? What all do you know?

On warmer days you could melt 

Or be blown away by the breeze.

On colder days a blizzard could steal you away with a single icy sneeze.

Your grin is slightly crooked,

And there are twigs poked in your body.

You're not perfectly round,

And your arms look rather knobby.

The rocks all down your front

Aren't in a perfect line

And the flowers pressed to your snowy shirt

Have been blown off over time.

No, you're not perfect, Mr. Snowman, but that's how I like you to be;

Misshapen, crooked, out of place

Yes, you look great to me.