Dearly beloved, I write this ode
In memory of this once-clear road
On which we went anywhere we planned—
But now, on which we can barely stand!
There’s ice beneath and snow on top;
If your car gets going, it won’t soon stop!
Too late you’ll see the danger zone;
Repair bills will kill all the cash you own.
Just trust me, the road to ruin won’t show…
But it’s there, under half a foot of snow.