Snow
This mysterious stuff called snow,
Messy flake stuff you know.
That eyes light up when they see,
The stuff setting up to knee.
It only has to twinkle down,
And broad smiles displace a frown.
But what I really don’t get,
Is calling it snow when it’s just wet.
For me this stuff called snow,
That messy flaky stuff I know.
Is cold compact and white,
Making the landscape Christmas bright.
What it isn’t you know,
Is hailstone rain feigning snow.
No, my mysterious crystal stuff,
Is bright clean white and full of fluff.
Roger Bennett
16 Dec 2011
“The right of Roger Bennett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this work may be reproduced or stored in any form whatsoever without the express written permission of the author."
