Snow

You’ve waited days for that magic pose.
When you race out to get the first snow on your nose.
To see the place go white, to strip all the dingy colours in sight.
And those warm crackling fires at night.
Snow makes the air go crisp.
And to crunch and squeak everywhere, a twist.
People groan shoveling to get past.
I love it, to use my blower and blast.
Sadly each year you get tired of the cheer.
The snow you celebrated turns to slush that's berated.
Life changes from pure white.
And returns to forest colours dark and light.