BY LAWRENCE “MACK” HALL

There could be snow later, and that would be nice.

Children can grow up here and never see snow.

Today they might go out and play in it

While we old folks tut-tut, “You’ll catch your death…”

But they are asleep, the snow is asleep,

Only the rain is awake, drip, drip, drip,

Making last summer’s leaves speak one last time

As they crumble into their winter sleep.

There could be snow later, and that would be nice

For the children: a happy new year twice.