Beside me on the table lies a small green stem;
This stem once with it carried a lovely botanical gem.
Outside the window yonder is a city caked in snow;
Such that all is cancelled and I have nowhere to go.
It's funny that this stem of green shucked clean and here laid bare
Gets mention in this rhythmic verse 'bout all that white out there.
For you see, my friends, that stem, to me's a sad reminder
Of a time (and time again) to me, that's so much kinder.
And now, of course, I have a day, no deadlines, dues, or debits
But that stem is what remains of a stash worth several credits.
A tragedy to none but those who also will partake;
To me, a dearth that stonewalls my voracity to bake.
Alas, I open this white page and 'ply my verse unto
Lament for being 'void of green...what has my life come to?