The Drift

The snow is so deep, it’s starting to seep
into daily life’s very marrow.
With rivers of ice and white pyramids
one oft feels like Frosty the Pharaoh.
It seems every day the forecasters say,
Get ready for two feet of powder.
The drifts look like waves upon a strange sea,
an ocean of frozen clam chowder.
If I were a child, I’d be going wild,
no school and unlimited sledding.
But I’m much too old and aching and cold:
Dear God, please annul this white wedding!

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I'm a writer living in Massachusetts.