You came in silence tonight
just as I thought you might,
following yesterday's chinook
that nudged me as I walked
that shook me as I drove.
Today your thick soft carpet concealed
the slippery ice still stuck on the road,
so we swerved and skidded as we drove.
In November, the first sight of you was a reminder
it'd be a white Christmas, a longer winter.
Good thing the city plowed and scattered sand,
so on the roads, we could pass.
When you came wet, hard, and heavy
like gravel, sand and cement that's watery,
there was not much the city could do
as wheels were trapped, stuck on you.
Hence we pushed each other's cars,
plowed and plowed with all our might.
When the sun shone, your piles melted,
flooding our streets and basements.
And just when the road was showing,
you came again bit by bit, slowly layering
the road as if it were a scalp gathering
dandruff and wanting lots of scratching.
Well, oh, well. Let it snow, I'd say.
Do come now and then,
let your crystals and flakes decorate
our windows and windshields.
Let the kids enjoy snowball fights,
roll you over and make a snowman,
throw or bury themselves into your pile,
build forts, dig caves, whatever they desire
(while adults fret at the sight of you and sigh).
Let it snow, I'd say, until next wintertime.