For its annual potluck supper, our neighborhood book club asked each member to read a favorite poem. Of course, our focus would be on the food, which has been upgraded several notches since our first time. (Julia Child would have been pleased.)
When we got to the poetry, folks read their favorite Yeats, Tennyson, Frost, or other usual suspects--until it came to me, a certified non-lover of poetry. My selection was not moving or inspirational, but it did receive a round of applause.
Written in about 1980, by the then eight-year-old Jeremy, here is the original manuscript:
As the polar vortex descends, I hope skiing friends will forgive me as I still go for No Snow Is Good Snow.