The snow falls gently to the pavement.
I put on my work boots, and coat and grab the shovel.
And, sleepy eyed, push and scrape and heave-ho knowing that, snow?
There will be more.
I think of the widows and single moms- who'll shovel their paths?
I awoke too late to do more than this drive,
and then I'm gone.
But I love that here,
in this place...
as if from days gone by,
In the darkness I see a boy.
Another, another one, and still some more.
Dragging shovels not much shorter than they,
They approach the next driveway and they shovel,
And they push,
and they finish the chore.
From ages 12 to 18 they've woken early to do what they do.
They shovel for those who may not be able,
or have many more chores themselves to do.
Angels with acne, and homework,
and responsibilities galore.
They shovel a dozen or more paths and driveways.
They showed up today,
They'll be back tomorrow,
and the next and the next if needed.
Bless their moms and their dads
for raising these boys.
Who in the darkness will do their good deeds.
Then they'll be off to school.
Perhaps with homework that's sloppy,
And hair that's a mess.
I don't know their names- it's too dark to distinguish one from the other,
but I'm warmed by their goodness,
and their selfless deeds.
There will be no shut-ins today.
Not in this neighborhood.
Thanks to these fine, young, men