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WICKED WINTER WEATHER

Black ice beneath fresh snow. To the shop I must go. I slither here and there And now I really fear. What if then I should slip Land on sciatic hip? But I shall persevere For I’ve run out of beer So to the shop I go. Black ice beneath fresh snow.

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Jacqueline Elston

Date: 1/9/2025 2:54:00 AM

lol. hope you made it to the shop, Nothing worse than running out of beer in winter time, especially in the Uk as everything comes to a stand still when we have snow. Thanks for sharing your poem. J.

Tony Hargreaves
Date: 1/11/2025 8:05:00 AM

Many thanks Jacqueline. I made it there and made it back/ Despite the ice giving me flack/ Those Stella ten-packs weigh a bit/ But I stayed upright and made it. Tony.