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My drive is long, my kids are grown and snow will soon be here,
That shovel hanging near my door-- once my means to clear.
Fortunately I've come to see that a man might use a friend,
Though maybe rash, I spent the cash (so gas and oil I'd blend).
And though it had the trappings of a funny looking toy,
I came to find it put to shame, that last departed boy.
For though it's swath was narrow-- (demanding many trips),
It never asked for quarter, as it's paddles cleared the strips.
The wind might swirl and chill my bones as back and forth I'd go,
But the steady hum of my little chum, ensured I'm pitching snow.
There came to me a feeling that "I'm really in command",
Wasn't just a victim-- of old winter's sneaky hand.
There was the need for maintenance, and sometimes something'd break,
Until the time I'd get it fixed, (my peace of mind at stake).
Throwing snow's more noble-- like showing who is boss,
Than doing things like cutting grass, where time seems such a loss.
For you know that grass is angry-- will replace what you have done,
But after every snowstorm-- clearing skies will bring the sun.
Enjoy the role I get to play-- undoing Nature's wrath,
Don't envy any neighbor who has hired to clear a path--
I find it quite a comfort when the engine fires its prime--
Watch the snow spray away 'alee-- and do it every time!