Most any other place
Plays ordinary April
fools
Jokes, at least that’s
What they tell me
It’s only here
Where one expects
To see showers and
flowers
And wakes to bowers
And drifts of that
white stuff
Not clouds, no
Not fog or mist or dew
Nothing so ephemeral
As any of that
Here in this place
Crouched on the lip
Of the Arctic Circle
As some wise scribe
Once penned
April fools
Are those who
Continue to dwell
Where snowfall
Tries to set world
records
Every
Single
Year
S.E.Ingraham
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