Blizzard of 1997

Through the hazy mists of legend,
Back inside the vortex of Time,
We reach a destination where colors can be touched
And limericks do not rhyme.
Going backwards from the beginning,
Doing things which in reality cannot be done,
We find those wonders that cause us to gaze,
To breathe and exist as one.
And as one we traveled,
My five compatriots and I.
We braved the Blizzard’s strength and fury,
Taking the chance that we could die.
Three cans of Soup, One Jay ‘N Be,
A Gardener and a Bear ‘N Steel.
This was the Blizzard of Nineteen Ninety-Seven:
The Risks and Danger were real.
The reports of this Blizzard were daunting;
Four feet of cold ice and snow were sure.
This Storm would rage for three days straight.
They doubted that we would endure.
We had our gear, our tents, and our packs.
We took all the clothes we could find.
Our faces to the fore, we went out the door.
The safety of home left behind.
In single file with the Steel Bear in front,
We waded through plains of wet Cold.
At times we were digging, the snow was so deep,
But it only made the Steel more bold.
At last when we could go no farther,
We halted, and made our small camp.
We shedded wet clothes and crawled into our bags,
And slept by light of Nature’s frosted lamp.
Legends will form; great poets will speak
Of the six that would not be stayed.
Nature bade them fall; yet they stood as a wall,
Though their clothes became sodden and frayed.
And the people will say in years to come,
Their will is not matched under heaven.
They will speak of them as heroes who won,
During the Blizzard of Nineteen Ninety-Seven.