This is the winter of heavy snow
There’s no place for it to go
It’s covered field and road and tree,
There’s no other place where it can be.
We’ve played, we’ve plowed,
We’ve shoveled and swept,
We’re lacking space to have it kept.
When it first came it felt so great.
So white—so pretty, we’d contemplate. But we’ve had enough, we want no more,
Our arms and backs are tired and sore.
Give us warmth—some sun and rain, Please stop the snow and ease our pain.
Cabin fever has come too early,
Perhaps I’m acting a little surly.
I’ll just go out and shovel and sing, Just three more months and we’ll have spring!
By Lawrence Aho (The Bard of Franklin)