I Miss the Snow

I miss the snow – it never comes
    In great big flakes of fluff.
Once a winter snow dust may fall,
   But that’s just not enough.

I grew up playing in piles and drifts,
   Making snowmen as tall as small trees.
How I’d love to do that again.
   It would be such fun for me.

I’d put a big hat on his head
   And a tall broom in his hand.
If I could build a snowman again,
   Oh, that would be just grand.

Though Southern children wish and wish
   For a snowstorm inches deep
And hope before they go to bed
   For a snowfall while they sleep.

They are disappointed
   Year after year after year,
While Northern children play in piles and drifts.
   It hardly seems quite fair. 

(I was raised near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania but was living in Southern Pines, N.C., and teaching in public elementary school when I wrote this poem on December 3, 1995.)