I think snow and I could become better friends
if Snow would confine itself to where the grass ends.
Snow should linger on ski slopes, packed powder preferred.
On my driveway and walks snow should not be observed.
For this white gift from heaven is not very nice.
Snow is cold and it's wet and it soon turns to ice.
Snow snarls my commute and makes parking a mess.
My back hates when I shovel, but I fear I digress.
Snow is beautiful, falling, driven by the wind,
but a pain in the ***** when the clean up begins.
Oh, I could wax poetic of snow's pristine beauty,
but my wife has assigned me to shoveling duty.
The lottery Genie could do me a big favor,
if my numbers all hit, she could well prove my savior.
On my beach, I'd recline, with a drink in my hand
and sing of "White Christmas" with my own back up band.