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Do you think it means I’m growing old
When thoughts of winter snow
Mean icy streets and frozen toes
And cars that just won’t go?
Of shoveling walks and clearing drives
Wet mittens hung to dry,
Of late to work, and cancelled plans
–Has youth for me passed by?

If I don’t think of snowball fights,
Building forts and snow men,
Of making angels, fox and goose,
And sometimes even then
The fun of making snow ice cream,
Of sledding down the hill,
Of skating on the neighbor’s pond,
Perhaps – but even still

I’ll never be too old to know
The thrill one feels inside
At the first snow fall of winter
When fall has finally died.
That pure white blanket is magic,
It sets the world aglow
It seems to speak a kind of peace,
That first, that heaven sent snow!

The Waynedale News Staff
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Harriet Stennfeld

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