Snows of Yesteryear

There’s nothing quite like heav’n on earth as freshly fallen snow,

Where everything is covered white the trees and earth below,

Remembering the childhood joy to catch it on your tongue,

And all those memories flood forth and bursting to be sung.

You diving onto Devil’s Hill with brothers on your sleds,

Maneuvering past every tree for fear of busting heads,

If they could not reach bottom how you each would jeer and scoff,

And, laughing all uproariously if they would tumble off.

How you were also paper boys next morn before the sun-

To trudge sometimes a foot of snow delivering everyone,

Now your strong throw so accurate to land the paper so,

T’would find the driest part of porch and never hit the snow.

And finally you’d see your home through snow topped maple grove,

To see your mother in the kitchen cooking at the stove,

You’d change your clothes and come downstairs to eat that home cooked meal,

These snowy days, as memory strays begets this way I feel.

But time it moves , and you are pleased to see grandchildren grow,

How fun in fresh and fallen drift you build a man of snow,

In future days they’ll stand quite still; dear Lord, it gives me cheer,

They'll harken back those wondrous days; the snows of yesteryear!

Peter Lowell Paulson

March 4, 2012