by Marla Martin, U.S.A.
Adam's birthday is coming soon.
He looks out the window, lured by the moon.
The glowing window, so carefully cleaned.
It's dreams, it's secrets he hopes to glean.
He knows not to touch it, no smudges allowed.
Through it he sees in the sky, not a cloud.
Never has Adam been given any toy that he has wished for.
So he does not hope; instead he dreams.
Through his magical window, he sees a snow machine.
On it he rides, turning, shifting, from side to side.
He looks back to see Dad watching, smiling with pride.
Then Adam's Mom sends him to bed.
His ride is ended, his face is red.
Adam glances out the window in his room.
He sees only snowdrifts, shone by the moon.
The magic is gone, all too soon.
Each night when the light is right,
Adam stands at the magic window.
There he lives his dream with his machine, his delight.
On his birthday Adam should feel excited.
But sadly, feels only his plight.
He does chores, sits and studies; no time to play with buddies.
Then Adam looks out the window where he can be seen, with his magic life and his snow machine.
"Adam, come here!" Mom calls.
A lighted cake's shadows dance on the walls.
Happy Birthday is sung, but Adam's hopes are small.
Confusion sets in as he opens a box.
Snuggled inside are snow boots and socks.
Opening more, he finds a suit, helmet and mittens within!
"What is it for?" Adam asks with a grin.
"Put it on and you'll see," says Dad.
So he dresses in everything, even the boots.
Mom takes pictures while Dad leaves; coming back dressed in similar suit.
Helmet in hand, he beckons the boy. "Come, and see your new toy."
Behind the house waiting under it's tarp, sits something large, with snowflakes on top!
Adam stands in shock and in total surprise, for nothing like this had he hoped or surmised.
Dad starts the machine and they roar off together, on the dream machine in cold stormy weather.
Soon Adam is driving alone.
His buddies watch as he roars about, learning, feeling the machine out.
Boy and machine are one great power.
Snowdrifts crackle hour after hour.
Too soon time has gone he knows, as afternoon shadows play on the snows.
He roars to a stop and lovingly covers his dream machine.
Adam goes inside, his face all aglow.
He is happy, his parents know.
He sits and nods his tired head.
Mom tells him to go to bed.
"In a minute," he pleads; as he looks out the window, it's secrets to steal.
For he knows now for sure
--it's magic is real.
A Thought for the Month
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