The Melt

With all the snow that we’ve been dealt,
It’s finally time for it to melt.
Piles that once reached to the sky
Now graze my ankle, not my thigh.

All the drifts, once gleaming white,
Have lost their sparkle, with their height.
The snow that’s left is grimy gray,
Fit for neither boots nor sleigh.

And snowmen – hatted, buttoned, belted –
Leave just puddles, once they’ve melted.
Rain today may help complete
The snow’s exile from the street;

But since there are no guarantees,
What’s left will very surely freeze.
Tomorrow, we will pay the price,
‘Cause then we’ll have to shovel ice!