We're never prepared for snow,

the streets and sidewalks covered,

everything is still and the bare trees;

it snows and the sound dies.

Only halfway there

and my shoes were soaked,

the sky the color of misery

and it laid there, 

beet-red, feathered.

Only halfway home.

Still, and the bare trees;

the sound died and my shoes were soaked,

we're never prepared for snow.

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