Snow Day is'no Day

My god! It's near the end of March, and “that Aprill” is approaching. Now we must grant that the seasons are always correct...

But when it snows like Sodom on the 23^rd of March, I begin to wonder if they don't always bear men too much respect.

North Americans are generally inconstant, but there's one thing about them I'm sure that I know.

That they love nothing more in December, and hate nothing more in March than friggin snow.

Even elements have their season, I guess, and I feel it in my innermost soul.

When I see snow out the window in late March, all I want to do is to burrow in my blanket and black-out like a visionless mole.

Now take care, this is not an allegory, or satire, or comment on anything political.

(And the fellow who reads any of that into my poetic outburst puts the “anal” in “analytical”)

I just honestly wonder if there's ever been a love/hate relationship of such titanic stature

As the hatred and love that nature bears to man, and man bears to nature.