How do these hexagons of ice
Produce such awesome magic?
A winter lacking your sweet fall
Is deemed by me quite tragic.
Your beauty wafting through the air
Can break the icy chill,
But when you pile up three feet high,
We call that Snoverkill.
Each year I hope for plenty of powder
In which to relive my youth.
I'll build igloos and snowmen and sweet sled ramps.
I'm a kid at heart, in truth.
This year my wish has come to pass,
And be surpassed by far.
Seriously, though, how often must I
Repeat, "Dude, where's my car?"
You shut down the city,
And bring us all out.
We say hi to each other,
As we're roaming about.
As we stake out our parking spots,
Our shovels we will share,
But I might smash your windshield in
If you steal our last chair.
Maryland in the days of yore
Would shut down at a flurry.
The schools were out, and home from work,
Adults would quickly scurry.
Last year he made fun of us,
For a dusting would cause much drama.
This year he has taken it back.
(I'm talkin' 'bout Barack Snowbama.)
You shut down the federal government.
You cancelled schools and trips.
In February Twenty-Ten
We survived Snowpocalypse.
Out the window our plans have gone,
And at times we have felt caged,
But think of the memories you'll have,
Made while the blizzard raged.
Food with friends and jumping in drifts,
Games, walks, and snowball fights,
Days spent bundled head to toe,
And cozy movie nights.
So let them complain or enjoy each moment;
I'll do the latter, and I'm bettin'
I'll look back fondly forevermore
Upon the Snowmageddon.
