Snowman

Flatten out like an ironing board, 
Until he gets what he's pining for. 
Filling time with his duolingo, 
Waiting for his turn as a knight, king, lord. 

Makes his fit, 
From the petals of an orchid. 
Doesn't wait, goes for it. 
When it slows, gives it more heat. 

He takes a slice of Baron Bigod, 
Prepared for the end of the big frost. 
When the suns blooms its riposte, 
Will he get back what he's lost? 

Run from the soldier, 
Hide in the mould a-
Fraid he can't hold her. 
He keeps getting older. 

— Snowman