The snow flocked art of shrub and lawn
excites me though it is an aggravation.
What fun to see the fluff and blow
of snowflakes dancing with the wind.
Time now to take me to the shed,
get the shovel from its bed
and convince the knees, not the back
The robin sings though green is gone
so who am I to carry on
because the weatherman
spoke with fork’ed tongue?
Come friend, forget the foiled plans;
let’s be children once again. There’s
just enough to make a snowman
if we make him thin.