Outside the flakes are swirling.
It's as cold as a witch's Mammary gland.
My toes are tightly up curling.
Winter is slapping my hand!
The traffic's hardly running
Even the plows are slow.
But I hear a motor gunning,
In the driveway, there's a glow.
The windows are frosted whitely,
I cannot see a thing.
There's a glow I percieve slightly,
A truck with oil to bring!
Not Santa on his sleigh arriving,
Bringing loads of cheery greeting.
The Petro company is thriving.
And now I think it's sleeting.
© By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)