Front Porch '47 Memory

- It was 1947 the big snow had lay It started in February and ended in May. It ran to the top of the telegraph pole And over thatched houses as if they were stole The people did shiver the old ones pasted on The turf was well saved but crusted there on The sheep on the mountain disappeared like those homes Were buried in caves of snow shrouded domes A prod of the stick at eight feet below a squel of the ram but no ewe did it show Of 100 sheep a loss of just 9 Most of them father's and no of them mine A rumour in town of the council's domain The towns folk dug path ways to council's main lane The heads of the people would pass by a store Only their heads nothing else to the floor. A child of the snow my father did say He was but 13 his brother away. A rare treat came hoping as tall as my pa a hare of white coat as strange as they saw They dined for a week on stew with pine nut A gift out of winter from god's earthly hut The snow finally melts and the sheep sprang about Close to a famine but better than drought My father sat watching from outside the thatch Mother Annie spinning her socks that should match This view down the mountain o're summer's sweet bog He now drives his red bus through Birmingham's smog. True