Drip Drop.
Drip Drop.
Snow piles melt
Run down the walk
To the street,
Slow and sure.
Drip Drop.
Rays of sun
Burn through the mound out back.
Once white and pure
Now a brown mess.
Drip Drop
Drip Drop.
The snow is gone
But there is no green grass.
And then,
Just when you think spring has sprung.
A flake falls.
So white and clean.
Then two flakes, then three
They add up
Slow at first
Then fast
Coat the dirt, the sand and grime
So white and pure
Cold and bright
What a sight
Friday, February 20, 2009
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