Soap?

Oh, I know—

is it

a rope?

Nope.

I hope

you see it.

Low, the cloud flows—

a rowboat

in the wind,

blown

to and fro,

not sure

if it will stay

or go.

A nose.

His nose!

It grows and grows—

Pinocchio!

No?

Snow.

That’s it.

Snow!

How it glows.

Like a cone,

or fluffy dough,

or foam.

Foam.

That’s both—

snow and foam.

Joe?

I’m right—

I know.