The milk-white snow drifts deep across the street
Blown by an ice cold wind out of the north.
The sidewalk, slippery with last night's sleet,
Spells doom for those who from their house set forth.
The sun, half-hidden behind thick grey clouds,
Provides a little light but not much heat.
Wool scarves, wrapped tighter than bleak funeral shrouds,
Conceal the face of every one you meet.
There's hoar-frost covering every hydro line
And icicles are hanging from the eaves.
It is so cold that even booze and brine
Have reached the point at which they both will freeze.
All of these things place one thought on the brain -
It's winter time in Winnipeg again!
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