How do you do it....how do you see
In the eyesore of solar resplendency.
Trees obscured from drifts of white
Reflecting its sheen off mid-day's light.
And, then from nowhere, here you come,
Two wooden feet like sticks for a drum
And it's the difference of winning or wiping-out,
As snow spews shards of opaque white out.
Yet, still, you manage to negotiate
The iced, snow blear to break the red tape
Of your inexplicable race to the Finish Line
You must be, have to be...snowblind!
_______________ F j R _______________
© MMXV- All rights reserved
Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR
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