Mittens

My frosted hands are laying below,
my frozen mittens; who my grandmother sewed.

They're wollen and woven; knitted with care,
tough and durable; so they won't shrink or tear.

I have made countless snowmen with my soft, fuzzy hands,
all over the anomalous, snow covered lands.

I've skated on infinite ice covered ponds,
slipping and sliding; my mittens catching my falls.

My mittens have held many ropes hooked to sleds,
racing down peaks; my cheeks flushing; shades of red.

My mittens have touched many snow covered trees,
compared to my mittens, next wettest things are my knees.

So now hours later from when I first set out to play,
me and my chilled mittens let off for the day.

Back to the rack above the wood stove,
along with the rest of my cold dripping clothes.

Then back to the kitchen where I fish into my pocket,
To bring out a hunk of snow to cool down my hot chocolate.