The tribe will retire their chief
It caused the Commish too much grief
That red smiling face
was deemed a disgrace
Now half the fans have a beef
The tribe will retire their chief
It caused the Commish too much grief
That red smiling face
was deemed a disgrace
Now half the fans have a beef
Long shadows cut sharp into the snow
Black against white
Sun withholds warmth but gives her light
Frosted panes, refracting
In a moment even light will be gone
We must mind our fires
The smell of galoshes
resting in melting puddles
waiting for their student’s return
This was grade school
in winter
in Ohio
when I was young