The Snowmam

It's cold, yet I'm on fire with heated imagination.
Only an hour ago you were but an ordinary creation.
With my fingers aching and toes in pain...
I chisel at you again and again.

No longer are you a snowman are you,
The stairs and "ahems" of passersby prove that, they do.

You are now my "snow-MAM", shaped into a form I crave.  

In time you, like beautiful creations of old, will be faded, sad and gone.  But I will not cry and curse the rising furry of the sun.

My camera will capture that sexiness I adore, long after you have melted into a slushy gore.

Horror must have been the only pilot that day, when protective shielding gone away.

How lucky to be ignorant of missing tiles, when evidence would have fueled terror denials.

Helplessly we watched with our dreadful looks, as heroic souls flamed into history books.

They were first to go out in meteoric glory, captured in broad daylight, truly a story.  

But the end was more to this watchful eye, Twilight Zone coincidences I cannot deny.   

Some saw it as punishment from the Divine, brought about by a contemplated Palestine.  

Others saw it as a Allah's wrath on infidels, bringing down a craft is so few decibels.

True, there was that first ever astronaut, and did he walk away?  Sadly, he did not.  

For the valiant ship did indeed disintegrate, its bright trail leaving me to contemplate.

And why did God allow ship and crew so fine to destruct over a town spelled... "Palestine"?

https://youtu.be/5R6xbUoHajA