You can keep your snow-capped mountains <br />I can pass <br />on fields of virgin white. <br />The real power of snow is seen <br />on chimney stacks and pavements, <br />perfection silhouetted against a city skyline. <br />Ice on the locks <br />of the Canal; <br />Prim herbaceous borders <br />flaunting feather boas of powdered frost <br />sequined like housewives at christmas. <br />Children freed from board and desk <br />run amok. Good oldfashioned amok. <br />There are no smells to rival <br />your neighbour's breakfast <br />cooking on a snowy morning. <br />Skies of leaden foreboding, <br />offset by central heating and <br />curried chips. <br />The fleeting pathos of a snow day <br />the knife-edge balance of work and <br />roads too snowbound for traffic <br />O! the thrill. <br />You can keep vistas of grandeur <br />nothing beats the slow and stately grace <br />of the 46A sailing past, unable to stop <br />on brakes too far gone for snowy roads.<br /><br />Geraldine Moorkens Byrne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/snow-in-dublin/
