When the snows blow wild

And the day grows old,

Beware, the snowman, my child.

Beware, the snowman.

He brings the cold.

Why did that rhyme return to me?

It was a rhyme my mother used to whisper to me when I was a little girl. I could almost hear Mom's soft voice, a voice I haven't heard since I was five....

Beware, the snowman.

He brings the cold.

Mom died when I was five, and I went to live with my aunt Greta. I'm twelve now, and my aunt never read that rhyme to me.

So what made it run through my mind as Aunt Greta and I climbed out of the van and gazed at our snow-covered new home?