His mother had been right.
The glass on all the windows
transformed itself to shapes
of the most beautiful of flowers,
the roses of Old Man Winter.

He touched his nose to feel
and saw the flowers fade
only returning with his patience.
There was a true abundance
of glowing heat, dressed up
as frost to redden little cheeks
and curious noses in a flash.

He quickly turned himself
into a locomotive, blowing steam
across the valleys of his mouth
where promises of tiny teeth
rose up to add assistance.

As all good thoughts reward
the snowflakes tumbled down
only behind the circle of warm air
that one small boy had shared
first with himself and then,
because of love, his mother.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ice-flowers/