Winter, Snow, Chicago—three words

Which meld with ease. To be a kid

In such a clime, though cold as sin,

Is sweet, in a Holly, Jolly Christmas

Sort of way—boredom lies indoors.

Without, in the bright cold—skating, 

Sledding and snowball-fights fill

Saturdays and recess, while top-hatted

Snowmen with charcoal eyes and grins, 

Carrot noses, and twigs for limbs,

Stoke their pipes—it is a magical time,

Or was, I am recalling earlier days—

Coming home chilled and wet through,

Shedding snowy boots, mittens, hats.

I dedicate this memory to my play-

Ground companions, my schoolmates, 

Jimmy and Jack, Bobby and Jack,

Mikey and Todd, Billy and Benjy,

Phillip and Phil, Stacy and Ellen,

Penny and Pam, Joey and Johnny,

Johnny and Linda, Linda and Lisa,

David and Dean, Tommy and Eric,

Nancy and Sue, Ellen and Barb,  

Joey and Ted, Julian, Janet and Jane,

Amy and Anne, Sandy and Jeff;

Fondly remembering Mrs. Evans, 

Sixth grade teacher extraordinaire,

And John Fitzgerald Kennedy.