Douglas moped down the sidewalk; shoulders hung low, bouquet hung lower. Simone's harsh words tormented his soul-- until the sole of his shoe met a piece of pink chewing gum. It was still mushy, for a six-year-old pigtailed girl in blue dress had accidentally spat it out three minutes prior. She skipped along, holding her mum's hand singing 'ABC' when it slung from her glossy lips. Rolling his eyes, Douglas sighed depressingly and continued home.

Have you seen the snow?

It’s puffy you know.

It’s fluffy and stuffy and scruffy and cold.

It’s white when it’s young,

It’s sludge when it’s old.

And it flies in from high in the sky, I’ve been told.

When you’re childish and chill,

It can be quite a frill.

You can play every day as you may if you will.

And, when school gets called off,

How so happy you feel.

You can dance, take a chance and just prance. What a thrill!

You can shuffle outside with your bucket-ma-whuppets

and shovel-ma-wovels, and all.

You can build snow-la-bobbles that wiggle and wobble--

What a show when they finally fall!

You can watch grumpity grumps in their lumpy hat lumps

Driving around in their bumpy truck bumps

Skidding their wheels over bright white snow humps

From your dining room window while eating your lunch.

You can watch all the dads in their blow-a-ma-lawns

Blowing the snow til it looks like it’s gone

Or you can watch all the moms with their brushety sticks

Brushing the snow off the things that she picks.

You can sit inside warm in your cozety bed

And wonder why grownups find snow such a dread.

Because, after all, you never may know

Why grownups find trouble with wonderful snow.