Fallen Snow
It isn’t right when snow, once white,
Turns dirty brown or grayish
For when we glance, we’ll look askance
And maybe feel dismayish.
It’s very strange. What makes it change?
My grandson asked, in wonder.
Well, cars and feet out on the street
Make all the white go under.
Some parts stay clean and quite pristine
Just like a new marshmallow,
But walk around, if on the ground,
You see some snow that’s yellow!
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