With wintry wind a-howlin’ mean
I sweep aside with wrath
The dusting of the fallen snow
That coats the driveway path.
Then, on my hands and knees, I sift
The snow-grains, white and ghostly;
My quest is unsuccessful, though;
I’m finding acorns, mostly.
Then someone asks the purpose of
This curious attack;
“I’m looking for the darned receipt
To send this winter back!”