hoping for snow

I walk home wearing twin braids with bows

and a big smile because I'm wishing for snow.

Snow like a blanket, thick and white,

I want it to fall all through the night -

to cover the roads and the trees and the hills,

sparkling with winter's original thrill.

To settle over the houses breathing wisps of smoke

like a painter covering canvases in just one stroke,

to whisper a greeting to birches all gray

and tumble down onto the children at play.

Three inches at least I must hope for,

enough to come up and knock on my door

with a wish for a perfect snow-covered ground

and for the mighty old snowplow to not come around.

And when the sun emerges from her curtain of dawn

our superintendent will let out a yawn

and when she sees all the white gathered out on the sill

she'll call it a snow day, or at least I hope she will.