Snow


I’m tired of snow  -  the ooh! and aah! of it,
the cliché-ed Winter Wonderland! the press
dust off each winter;  all that blah! of it,
as though it’s news.  I’m tired of the mess
it makes of all our best-laid plans, as though
its wet white blanket was unknown to us,
so each new winter rediscovers snow!
I’m tired of the shock a few flakes’ fuss
delivers to the management of trains.
Ditto closed roads.  I’m tired of slush and ice,
and constant gritting and diverted planes.
I’ve had enough enough of “sensible” advice
to wrap up warm, wear boots, watch how you go!
(I always do.) The NHS can’t cope
with yet more sprains, concussions, fractures, so
I’ll draw the curtains, stoke the fire, and hope:
tomorrow, snow is tired of being snow.

D. A. Prince

If you have any comments on this poem, D. A. Prince  would be pleased to hear from you.