The King Poem by Michael Spinelli

When the snow falls from the horizon,
And the icicles form on the ground,
I will wait till morn for the sun to set,
And lose you all around.

I’ll lose you in summer winds,
And tasty little pies,
I’ll lose you in the ocean waves,
And in our children’s eyes.

When the snow falls from the horizon,
We won’t mean anything.
I’ll look upon a barren world
A world where I am king.

The king of dust and blankness too
And lack of everything
The king of none, the king of not
But I will be the king.