Grumpy Old Winter Poem

There’s a programme on TV that I love – Grumpy Old Women. As yet more snow fell on Greater Manchester, I became a tad grumpy myself.  I mean: –

First day;  It’s Snowing!!! Happiness, snowball fights, build a snowman, go sledging. Aren’t we lucky?

Second day:  The snow’s really stuck, hasn’t it?

Third day: Gosh, aren’t we having a lot of snow?

Fourth, Fifth and subsequent days from before Christmas until now:  You can have enough of a good thing, can’t you?

And more than enough.  But snow and winter always seem to be poetic, somehow, so here goes:

January brings the snow;

Makes the toes and fingers glow.

Are we happy? I think not.

It’s snowing such an awful lot.

Why are my fingers glowing as above?

The kids have nicked my ruddy gloves

And my wellies, so with frozen feet,

I hobble down the frozen street

Ice clinking in my gin is fine,

Especially with a twist of lime

But as stuff to walk on, its not good

And my language isn’t all it could

Be, as slipping and sliding something rotten

I end up once more on my bottom

The car’s stuck in a solid drift

I’ve dug it out but it still won’t shift.

So off to Tescos we must go

To buy some salt to melt the snow

But Tescos has been caught on the hop;

There is no salt within the shop

The shelves are swept completely bare

Where once was salt is only air

I ask the lady at the till

Pray tell me, do you think there will

Be more salt? She shrugs with exquisite humour

And says that there’s a persistent rumour

That they’ll have more salt in Spring

When we don’t need it for anything,

But chips and a sprinkle on your grub.

What? Bugger this, I’m going to the pub.

Back at home and thawing fast

I turn the radio on to the blast

Of A Winter Wonderland. Was the fault mine?

That, maddened by constant repetition,

I hurled the radio to perdition.

The roads are blocked, the trains are slow

The weather’s at an all-time low:

There’s been too much snow of late

Winter’s past its sell-by date.