'It's snowing, dear. It's two feet deep.
I think we should be fast asleep
considering our options here.'
I hope the quote makes quite clear
exactly my predicament;
that while I wrote this, God had sent
at least another inch, or two.
Come to think, now wouldn't you
do just as what I said we should,
be fast asleep, and dreaming good,
relaxing dreams of far off climes?
That is, until these silly rhymes
began, and ran ... and ran along.
They made my dream sound like a song
about a snow past, two feet deep
Into this poem now, digging. Keep
your eye upon me; faster now,
digging faster than a plow allows,
until it has been shared.
Consider words that you see paired
as if they represent a thing -
a prosed out poem you can sing
along with while it's in your head.
I'd give you something else instead,
except that what I've done is done.
I hope you've had a bit of fun.
Light and dark are needed here
to make each point as crystal clear
as words can be upon a page,
or acted out upon a stage,
or sung as in this lovely song.
I'm glad it didn't take too long
for one like you to think, suggest,
that such as I might thus invest
in a dad's doing, blowing snow.
Shovel this: as blowers go,
I think that snow's a passing fad,
so I don't use fancy doo-dads,
but thanks for thinking. What I see,
relative to gravity
in places such as my ville, knocks
twice. At first, it strikes the clocks
of times I've spent in snow so white;
the joys of youth, a mind's delight;
a memory of days gone by,
which makes me think to wonder why
a darker day would ever come.
I know this rambles, sounding dumb,
as light and dark, like night and day,
are used as words as if to say
that happy have I been just now,
having you here to share My Plow.