Winter, snow, Chicago—three words

Which meld with ease. To be a kid

In such a clime, though cold as sin,

Is sweet, in a Holly, Jolly Christmas

Sort of way—boredom lies indoors.

Without, in the bright cold, skating 

Sledding, and snowball fights, fill

Saturdays and recess, while top-hatted

Snowmen with charcoal eyes and grins, 

Carrot noses, and twigs for limbs,

Stoke their pipes—it is a magical time—

Or was, I am recalling earlier days,

Coming home chilled through, bringing

The outdoors in on boots and mittens.

I dedicate this memory to my school-

Mates, play-ground compadres: 

Jimmy and Jack, Jack and Jimmy, 

Jimmy and Bobby, Mikey and Todd, 

Billy and Benjy, Phillip and Phil, 

Stacy and Ellen, Penny and Pam, 

Joey and Johnny, Johnny and Linda, 

Linda and Lisa, Scott, Paul and Dean,

Tommy and Eric, Kathy and Barb, 

Betsy and Marcy, David and Julian, 

Joey and Ted, Janet and Jane, Amy 

And Anne, Sandy and Scott, Olaf

The Crossing Guard, and Mrs. Evans, 

Sixth grade teacher extraordinaire.)