When images of distant hills
turn more solemn, still and strange,
and all nature seems prognostic
of some dark and more deadly change.
In a star-filled midnight Heaven,
brooding and full of new-born thought
the patient poet stands watching
by whom liberation is brought.
Under trees all clothed in silver,
near the houses touched with white,
as chilly Winter kisses Earth
beneath the canopy of night –
He must bow in silent homage
to the pallid and pensive train
of stars that shine down such glory
on this wintery spirit’s reign.
They called her triple scoop at school cuz she was kind of plump
she was made of ice cream, so all day long she ran and ran and ran
Sliding in and out of freezers just to gather herself up in a clump
They called her "Dairy Queen Of Junior High" she never got a tan
Flavored in three Neapolitan colors she came, now that is insane !
She dolloped to walloped turning away from the sun, run Queenie run
Oh how sweet but how melty she dripped each time it began to rain
The only thought through her head was, " I might as well be a nun !"
Then one day she met Mr. Freezer, who lived in an Igloo by the Artic
come live with me & we will make snowballs all day and play ...
It was best to live in the cold, for that was her honest prognostic !
together they thrived and felt good in that place called, " Snowsway"
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