Frosty Mourn

 Frosty morn

John Clare Stokes

Like Frosty the Snowman

I long for some magic

In the old pith hat

My father once wore

To work the bee hives

To weed the acre pea rows

Below Wakulla County skies

And how the gardens would grow

There is now so much I do not know

So little that I can remember

The crepe myrtles need pruning

The Christopher lilies aren’t blooming

But am I even in the right season? 

I rub the old pith hat

Bend to separate the clustered bulbs

An ever slight hint of fall 

Is in the hot Florida air

I pray for another snow

as in eighty-nine

so I can build again my father

and place upon him

his old beekeepers pith hat 

I know there must be some

magic in.