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.
