Skies once blue are painted gray,
Spitting bits of rain our way,
Damping down the drought-drained ground,
Till it's been completely drowned.
Pathways squish, and pavement's puddled.
Students are by colds befuddled.
People tend to stay inside:
Going out seems suicide.
Colder goes the season, and
Soon the frost is on the land:
Now the lawns are turning pale.
Rain has given way to hail.
Biting wind, that chill invader,
Brings the season to its nadir.
Still, while people feel cursed,
They're aware they're spared the worst.
East and north, the students know,
Home's been buried under snow.
So they're glad, though Stanford's drear,
They're not dwelling there -- but here.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, December 9, 1994.
c 1994, 1996 Fleabonnet Press for the author.