100 Words for Snow, a small poem on a winter’s night

They say there’s one hundred words for snow But I’m not privy to the language That makes it so And as magical as snow can be One hundred words does seem in excess So I wonder On this winter’s solstice night Why love, no less miraculous than snow Has only one word to crown its glory And honour its story. Love is over-used perhaps Sometimes untrue But Love certainly rivals snow It’s as magical As dear As sweet.

Adoration is not the same Nor lust, infatuation, passion They pale or are over the mark Before or beyond the point. I watch the snow as it falls And feathers on the street Below my Juliette window.

It will all disappear soon enough Although not before someone Draws a heart in it On a windshield or snowy walk And tattoos its timeless wish Under a moonlit sky. There are one hundred words for snow But only one word for Love And while I’m not privy To whatever makes that so I reckon it might be because In time, one melts While the other stays Even as its seasons come and go.