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Show 4v WILBUR D. TSBIT iftWf illEES .. .- ; Oh, the snow! The beautiful snow! It falls from the sky To the earth below. It covers the streets With a mantle of white. And gleams there, so pure. Until the street cleaner comes along and wallops it around In the dirt and shovels it into his cart and hauls it out to the city dump before night. Oh, the snow! The beautiful snow! Like ivory white Is its inocent plow All innocent, fair. Is its purity sweet. Until it packs into a hard, slippery surface, and somebody comes along and steps on It and scoots spasmodically spasmodi-cally oh his spinal column clear across the street! Oh, the snow! The beautiful snow! It fills us with thoughts That to poetry grow. As we saunter along On Its surface all white, Until the small boy who has been lurking lurk-ing around the corner with a snowball, snow-ball, soaked In water, and frozen good and hard, knocks our poetry galleywest and fills us with consternation con-sternation and vain words by landing land-ing the aforesaid snowball on the most convenient ear! |