One evening some time ago, Randall Wehler was sitting in his Moorhead home, totally landlocked due to a blizzard which had just whipped through the area.

“Biding my time,” Randall wrote “Neighbors,” “I composed a poem others may like to read.”

Here it is.



“Ode to snow”

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I see that white flakes are falling from the sky.

Just ask the meteorologist the question “Why?”



Such a beautiful, gentle coating of the ground;

Earth’s renewal that comes with nary a sound.



Will children be building snowmen with a grin?

Will they make snow angels with a cheery din?



Currier and Ives pictures drift through my mind;

Horse-driven sleigh rides for ancestors so kind.



The wind picks up, more snow blown sideways.

Fearing the worst, I enter my garage in a daze.



My shovel and scraper stand, propped to the wall;

I will scoop it away and maybe that will be all.



To the TV I go to get the largest report;

A good source of info to which I often resort.



A blizzard surely is coming, and I let out a yelp!

If I cuss at the sky, it will provide just no help.



At my window I watch sculpted drifts be formed;

Perhaps nature’s art work without getting forlorn.



The day grows longer into a night yet to come;

Winds outside roaring, sound of torture to some.



As day dawns sun-lit, the snow blower won’t go.

Then I pick up my shovel and say “That’s just so.”



I create my own sculptures with snow piled high.

It’s almost three hours later when I let out a sigh.



Perhaps a winter’s revenge on a summer so nice;

It’s consolation I seek as I view all this ice!



If you have an item of interest for this column, mail it to Neighbors, The Forum, Box 2020, Fargo, ND 58107, fax it to 701-241-5487 or email blind@forumcomm.com.