Few snowball fights or snowmen happen here.
We watch white streaks instead whiz by like stars
In film effects as spaceships fly and veer
At faster speeds than light can go. Our cars
Are sometimes buried deeply in the stuff,
And must be excavated by and by
With shovels, but more often it's enough
To brush it off, so powdery and dry
Is Cheyenne's version of a winter's snow.
But even that is rare, as rare's the day
When after any cruel and snowy night
That any of that snow is there to stay
Upon the ground to glitter by daylight.
But woe betide us, if the snow's still there;
The wind makes a new storm, perhaps a pair.
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Raindrops on Kittens
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