Eight p.m. and it’s still snowing.  We shoveled a while ago, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort.  The plows are undoubtedly coming back, and we’ll have to do it again.

This is probably our favorite snow poem, by A.A. Milne.  We would recite it to our kids whenever it snowed, and I think eventually they started looking at us funny.

The more it snows (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
On snowing.

And nobody knows (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
Are growing.