Those were the days when winter was white,
when snow covered fields that were bare.
You needed sunglasses, so bright was the light,
reflected from everywhere.
Not only for children the day was a treat,
grown-ups enjoyed the fine snow.
Only driving a car could mean a defeat
when the getting to work was too slow.
Gone are the days that were wintery white.
Poor snowflakes too soon turn to mush.
Now the winters are dreary, hardly the sight
that the painter conveys with his brush.
