Tapped out in carharrts and gaiters,
Sugary boys all fidgety as idle waiters

While deep snows pile higher and higher
Awaiting Nature’s cherished sweet flyer.

Woodsheds stowed full in neat ranks
Where even the wee wash their big tanks,

And buckets and buckets, and buckets galore,
Hung with Saint Nickolas pray, and then more:

Tubing arrayed in webs snug so tight
By old and young a snowshoe all night,

To the dark hillsides' whine with a sucker's hiss,
Headlamps twinkle and search fittings amiss.

Long they shoe and frozen evenings they toil,
Before lighting the stick wood for a roaring boil

Til old timers doze with rhythmic wheezings
To the hum of new fangled electric squeezings.

Each steam dream hopes tis Felicity they snag,
Even lest risk one scorches a sisterly hag.

Woe, many nary draw a frosted glimpse hoary,
Let alone the sought sweet kiss of their quarry.

For up from the border she so quietly wings,
The brightest light orb she so quickly brings.

Blink, aye, cause only a moment she tarries,
For it must be with all sweet flighty fairies.

And tis due north she so nymphfully scurries
While foolish forecasters still call cold flurries.

So sulks many a brave and hearty stoker forlorn
Fancy's hasty flight to the sound of her mother’s horn.