“Maybe, this is the last of the snow for this year?” Gun Roswell

Snowed in on a Friday

The snow started falling
Just around when midnight was calling
It just kept on pouring
Until the ground was souring
With powdery white stuff
Nobody knowing if it was enough
But someone said, shut up
And then we watch as the snow kept on coming
Then soon enough, none of us was humming
The piles on piles of snowflakes
Even covered the small watery lake
No matter where you watched
Nothing, no nothing remained untouched
The world was covered in this, thing
Even the bird stopped to sing
Most likely going to hiding
Worried what they might not be finding
The chewy worms in the ground
Because that was no longer to be found
The only thing alive
Was the white snow which came from above