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Day before Thanksgiving,
half day of school, classes
shortened, So what to do with
my "Meet Mr. Thoreau" today?
I wondered, when someone
suggested we head to the back
of the school to saunter through
the snowstorm, and out we went,
finding the wooded path buried
in a foot of snow (O, New England
winterscape supreme!), and when
we got to the hill, where we had
to turn back, we saw two paths
diverging in those white woods,
so I turned to them and repeated
the announcement that had started
their day, "Do Not Throw Snowballs.
Injuries May Result," and added for
good measure how immature this
would be, and they listened silently
like the bent trees all about, when
suddenly I scooped up my ball of snow
which found its mark on Sam Sunborg"s
head, and for my trouble caught one on
the ear, then all bedlam broke loose on
the trail behind the school, snow flying
as if someone had given our white world
a good shaking, and back to school we
trooped, all pleased with the lesson of that
day, and turning to them again, said, "No
one else need ever know what happened
on the trail behind the school today."
November 27, 2002