Hello shovel, my old friend,
I’ve come to dance with you again
Because a blizzard’s blindly set in;
Left its snows while I was frettin’.
And the drifts that are growing on my terrain
Until the end of summer.
Home’s buried walks I shovelled down,
Wintry drifts of snow all blown
‘Neath the sun dogs in the sky above.
I turned my head down and then found my glove,
Put it on and tried and tried to find the other one
But it was gone
Lost in the thoughts of summer.
And through the blinding storm I saw
No grader, plow — no not one!
People telephoning City Hall
People screaming , “We are appalled!”
People all forget this is River City:
We have no plows,
They’re still in sheds of summer.
“Fools”, said all, “They do not know
Winter like a cancer grows —
Hear the wind that goes right through you
Take our toques, balaclavas, too.”
But our words, like silent showflakes fell
In the dreams of summer.
Then the plows showed and scraped
To asphalt — we’re all agape!
And the snow piled up in windrows
So we can’t find our drive’s furrows.
And the sign said, “The words of the mayor are written on City Hall’s walls
And Public Works halls:
‘Don’t worry, it’s almost summer!'”.