by Sarah McLaughlin ’23
The gray Nor’easter clouds block out the sun,
And biting winds turn all our faces red.
For one day, the snow’s white, the weekend’s fun,
The mattresses are dragged outside as sleds.
But frostbite stings, snow turns to gray from white;
Even hot chocolate from Dunks can’t warm our cheeks.
Trash littered on Guz Hill brings no delight
(It’s hard enough to keep our campus clean).
The weekend’s over, and so to class I go,
The crunch of ice an ever-present sound.
It’s dangerous, I must take care, I know—
But snow boots fail, and I end up on the ground.
On top of all of this, I just got dumped.
Tell Eliot February’s the cruelest month.