Winter Poem by Raymond Farrell

You cannot be a Canadian
And not have an opinion about this season
On average, we're the coldest country in the world
And when you're standing out in February
Waiting for the bus
Shivering and shaking and wishing you were a brass monkey
You're going to say something
Even if no one else is around to hear it
But what I am tired of
Is those who feel compelled to extoll the virtues of this season
As though, snow-shoeing or tramping through snow up to your knees
Were comparable to a leisurely stroll around Bora Bora
Or a 'beaver tail' wolfed down with a mug of hot chocolate
You can scarcely maintain a grip of due to your frozen, numb fingers
Were a delicacy comparable to a fine seafood dinner
Served by a well-coiffed lass
On the island of Majorca
While basking in the Mediterranean sun.