A Christmas poem

Christmas morning as I watched
the snow swirling around on my farm,
I was confident once again
that it could do me no harm.

See, I married a real
do-it-yourself boy,
who even came with
a big four-wheel-drive toy.

Just yesterday he figured out
the corn burner could go
if hooked up to the car (what the heck!)
so I say, "Let it snow!"

We've got heat, we've got eggs,
we have all that we need.
As long as we don't run out of toilet paper
we'll be doing just fine indeed.

We spent half of the morning
eating cinnamon bread,
and the sugar went straight
to the littlest boy's head.

Our dog is curled up
all warm in her den,
while the cat lost his marbles
and slept in the nest of a hen. (really)

Day one of our blizzard
and the snow drifts are already a sight,
but I can still see the barn,
so I think we're alright.

But the wind hasn't yet
hardly started to blow,
so thank goodness we've got
not a darn place to go!

The only problem we have
is that I decided to cook beans,
and when we're all stormed in the house
I fear what that means.

And there's lots more snow coming,
they say that it's true.
So perhaps I'll continue later
with Christmas poem, part two.