Down it comes in fluffy white balls,
Joyfully children of all ages play with it,
They jump and catch it as it falls,
Gleefully they throw it, and laugh when they’re hit.

Down it comes on some steep hillside,
And devil-may-care youths happily ski on it,
Away they go far and wide,
Happily singing some sonnet.

Down it comes and stays there too,
Aggravated working people curse and rage,
For the thick stuff in white hue,
Is stopping, then working and thus stopping their wage.

Down it comes so, so very cold,
And like some awful terrible monster's blow,
It kills the aged and. the old,
But still relentlessly down, down, down comes the snow.