When Is a Poem Not a Poem?

Snow falls like hordes of little children,
Twirlies, dancers, singing their frosty songs,
Crystals so happy they fly upward
As often as they tumble down.

My heart dances with the snow.
I have only mingled, leaping thoughts
As jumbled as a basket of puppies
And smelling of puppy breath.

No sonnets today, no restraints.
Only the free syllables of a happy heart,
Wondering so at the joyful surprises of living
That imposing order is beyond reach.

About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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