Category: Snow

Maybe I’m romantic, but the firs snow seems to me
About as near perfection as we shall ever see.

Tumbling, swirling snowflakes, that blanket sordid earth–
White and pure and stainless as the air that gave them birth.

What else is there in Nature: flowers, birds, or trees,
Or lonely stars, or butterflies, or lazy drone of bees

To equal in its beauty, its solemn, white-lipped song,
The appeal to every human, that the first snow brings along?

In this covering all the dirty world, a lesson I can see:
If God can whitewash all its sins, there’s hope for even me!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 10, 1936

Comes darkness, and cold gray cloud lurkers
Transform themselves to fairy workers,
Busy, eager, so the lawn
Is Santa Claus Land for the dawn.

by Ray Romine Monday, November 19, 1951

The snow comes smartly from the west,
An endless, churning tide.
The weeds turn white from dullest brown,
And grow again as wide.

The titmouse is a-shiver, but
The trees stand straight to dare
The elements, now they are dressed
In new long underwear.

by Ray Romine Monday, January 5, 1953

Snow-stars from heaven, examined closely,
Cause me to ask, almost morosely,
However sun could have the heart
To melt such pure and matchless art!

by Ray Romine Monday, December 15, 1952

While humans slept, Dame Nature, with
The magic at her sure command,
Has turned the drab and rusty world
Into a crystal fairy-land.

The fence posts sport their furry caps
To please the curious chickadee,
And every sapling in the woods
Is suddenly a Christmas tree!

by Ray Romine Saturday, December 13, 1952

The recent snow is evidenced
By one or two defiant drifts
That lie, beleaguered, by the hedge
To watch the warming sun in shifts.

They must not sleep–they’re out to spoil
By looks and leers and anything
That hints of winter’s rougher side
This January hint of spring!

by Ray Romine Friday, January 4, 1952

That ancient wit, long years ago,
Was really in the groove
Who said “The Wicked Get No Rest”,
Which I shall herewith prove:
In fall, when I start to rejoice
That there’s no grass to mow,
The next day is the one that finds
My sidewalk under snow.

by Ray Romine Monday, August 6, 1951

I may own a sense of duty;
If I do, I haven’t felt it.
Snow that fell upon my sidewalk–
I shall wait on God to melt it.

What of him who slips and busts him
All because I wouldn’t shovel?
Let him sue the God who dropped the
Snow down on my walk and hovel.

If I had a sense ot duty,
On the trackless waste I’d use it;
But I’m rather glad I haven’t–
I’m afraid I might abuse it…..

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 16, 1949

While summer sun means perspiration,
And dampness, sinus irritation;
And rain, quite often, pure vexation,
New snow is somehow inspiration.

by Ray Romine Saturday, December 13, 1952

If you must be nostalgic, proceed, but I fear,
For my part, that I never would miss one
Single small snowfall of yesteryear–
I’m too busy shovelling this one.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 19, 1952