In Dublin We Get Useless Snow

In South Mayo,
Great drifts of snow
Adorn the gorse and heathers,
In Cavan town
It sashays down,
A mass of floating feathers.
It’s good and thick
In Ballylick
Where snowball fights are legion,
Across the land,
The snow is grand
Except in one small region.

In Dublin we get useless snow.
It always turns to slush.
It rots your boots
And soils your suits
And turns your socks to mush.
The kids look out the windows
And can’t wait to go and play.
But it won’t set,
It’s far too wet,
And quickly melts away.

In Dublin we get useless snow.
It’s more like frozen rain.
It hits the ground,
Then looks around
And scuttles down the drain.
It’s never thick and crunchy,
Always watery and dirty,
But what a fuss
When Dublin Bus
Knocks off at seven thirty.

In Dublin we get useless snow.
It’s blamed on global warming.
Some greenhouse gas
Collects en masse
To stop the drifts from forming.
The old lads talk about the days
When snowdrifts covered hedging,
When glaciers flowed
Down Rathmines Road
And everyone went sledging.

In Dublin we get useless snow.
The kids all think it’s silly,
There’s not enough
White solid stuff
To build a snowman’s willy.
The scattering, though pitiful,
Is always a sensation.
It just creates
And dominates
Each lunchtime conversation.

In Dublin we get useless snow,
Not what the kids are after.
An Eskimo
Would see our snow
And wet himself with laughter.
The hot Saharan sun beats down
On ancient Akahidu.
And yet I bet
The natives get
Much better snow than we do.

In Dublin we get useless snow,
Though elsewhere there is plenty.
Our cup of woe
Doth overflow
Although it’s minus twenty.
Bobsleigh teams are unimpressed,
Tobogganists get shirty.
We have to know –
Where is the snow?

Hey, what’s the story, Bertie?