dancing to the path below
where a child skips with joy.
The scene belongs to Christmas time
not the dying days of Winter,
snow adorns the crevices of trees,
daffodils shiver in the brutal breeze.
Snow falling on Roath Park Lake
as white as the Scott Memorial
though only a pale imitation
of the great blizzards which led to his doom.
Swans and mallards gracefully glide,
I pause for a while, my breath ghostly steam
as if drifting in a fabulous dream.