Barbara Purdy wrote this poem for the Winter 1963 issue of Exile. After days out in the summer sun, I hope some of you Denisonians are ready for the winter and snow!

Upon Remembering the Once-Novelty of Icicles

Ten years have passed since
Crouching under a bench
munching icicles
With a vagabond playmate
Was well worth soapsuds on the tongue
And a low browed mother.
But yet how well I remember
That day of snow and tomato soup
Much more than today’s
Rain and orange juice.
Maybe the difference
Is that I’ve lost my taste for icicles —
They’re old hat now.

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